
Class 



Book 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

AS SEEN BY 
A BROAD WAYITE ABROAD 



BY 

KARL K. KITCHEN 

it 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY HERB ROTH 



THE DAVID GIBSON COMPANY 

CLEVELAND 

1914 



^ 



\ 



'- 



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^ 



Copyright 1914, by The David GibsoD Company 
Published June, 1914 



Printed by Horace Carr 

it The Printing Press, Cleveland 

UiS.A. 

m id ld/4 

©CI.A374490 

^0/ 



To My Wife 

who was my companion in search 

of the Gay Life Abroad 

This Book is 
affectionately inscribed 




A Broadwayite 
Abroad 



PREFACE 

The following pages were written during 
a six months' trip abroad, made expressly 
for the purpose of seeing the gay side of 
Europe. They record the personal ex- 
periences of the writer in search of the 
night life in the leading capitals abroad. 
Of course neither Damascus nor Cairo 
is in Europe, but both cities are now 
being visited by so many Americans on 
tours abroad that the writer may be 
pardoned for including them with the 
other sketches under the title of "The 
Night Side of Europe." 

Karl K. Kitchen. 

New York City 
May, 1914 




A London 

Supper 

Club 



CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

I Berlin 19 

II A * 'First Night" in Berlin . . 29 

III Paris 39 

IV "First Nighting" in Paris . . 49 
V St. Petersburg 59 

VI A Night with the Common People 71 

VII Moscow 83 

VIII "First Night" at the Moscow Art 

Theatre 93 

IX Vienna 103 

X Vienna's Hall of Fame . . Ill 

XI Athens 123 

XII Rome 133 

XIII Constantinople 143 

XIV Damascus 155 

XV Cairo 165 

XVI Lisbon 173 

XVII London 183 

XVIII A London "First Night" . . 191 



[n] 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 



BERLIN 




At the 
Admiralspalast 



BERLIN 

IT is Gunther's twentieth birthday and 
I am invited to the party in his honor. 
The hour is 9.30 P. M. when I arrive at 
the Admiralspalast, where the dinner party 
is to be given. A flunky takes my hat, coat 
and stick the moment I enter the lobby. I 
mention my host's name and am directed to 
a lounge room on the floor above, where I 
find Gunther, surrounded by his father and 
mother, his younger sister and three school 
friends. 

My arrival is the signal for dinner and, 
led by Gunther's papa, we proceed to a bal- 
cony loge overlooking a great ice skating 
rink. There a table, resplendent with shining 
silver and white linen, is set for eight. 

As we take our places — mine is at the left 
of Gunther's mother — a clash of cymbals is 
heard. A big orchestra on a balcony far 

19 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

across the ice arena strikes up the opening 
bars of "Die Lustige Puppe," and from the 
opposite side a hundred men and women in 
gorgeous costumes skate out on the ice. 

For this arena of the Admiralspalast is 
nothing more nor less than a big amphi- 
theatre where plays are produced on the ice. 
Fifteen hundred people can dine in the bal- 
conies and witness the performance — which 
has no equal anywhere in the world. 

The arrival of the first course turns my 
attention to the birthday party. No cock- 
tails are served, but an imposing array of 
champagne buckets relieves my fears — 
Gunther's health and the many happy re- 
turns of the day are not to be pledged in 
ice water. 

The ballet is already on. A hundred per- 
formers in carnival costumes are dancing on 
the ice to the strains of the latest Jean 
Gilbert waltz. The balconies are filled with 
diners; waiters with huge trays of food and 
champagne buckets are hurrying by; the 
entire scene is one of activity and gayety. 

We pause from our delicious dinner to look 
at the ballet and to drink to Gunther. Sister 
Lotta proposes a toast which we drink stand- 

20 



BERLIN 

ing. Course follows course as one ballet 
changes to another. Only when Charlotte, 
the star of "The Merry Doll," dances a solo, 
do we keep silent. Her wonderful skating 
wins a round of applause, and we drink her 
health. 

It is now 11.30 P. M., and we have 
reached the coffee and cigarette stage of 
the dinner (Miss Lotta has been puffing a 
Russian brand for the past half hour). 
The piece is over and two teams of girls 
are now playing pushball on the ice to 
amuse those who wish to remain till mid- 
night. Gunther's father suggests a visit 
to the Admiralscasino — the big "ball estab- 
lishment" in the same building — which 
is just opening for its all-night dance. 
Gunther, however, suggests the Palais de 
Danse. He argues that there is more life 
there. 

"Natuerlich" agrees sister Lotta, and 
mama nods her head. So Gunther's father 
calls for the check (which is not very awe- 
inspiring, considering the size of our party) 
and in two roomy taxicabs, we proceed 
to the Metropolpalast in the Behrenstrasse 
which is the home of the Palais de Danse, 

21 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

the Pavilion Mascotte and two or three 
other "pleasure establishments," as they 
are called in the German capital. 

Berlin delights in grouping places of 
amusement, putting half a dozen different 
restaurants, ball rooms and cabarets under 
one roof. In the Admiralspalast in the 
Friedrichstrasse, for instance, there is a 
concert hall, a theatre, a restaurant, a ball- 
room, a cafe or bar, and a Turkish bath in 
addition to the ice-arena. 

The performance in the last begins when 
the theatre is over. The ballroom opens 
when the ice palace closes and to make 
things still more interesting the bar opens 
at 4 A. M. 

The Metropolpalast is even more sur- 
prising. The Palais de Danse, its chief 
feature, does not open until midnight and 
it remains open only two hours. When we 
arrived it was only ten minutes after mid- 
night but practically every table in the 
gorgeous ballroom was filled. However, 
Gunther was a "regular" (I knew that be- 
cause we did not pay the usual five marks 
($1.25) admission), and we were escorted 
to a well located table by the balustrade — 

22 



BERLIN 

directly overlooking the space roped off 
for dancing. 

It is almost impossible to give one's first 
impressions of the Palais de Danse. There 
is nothing like it in the world. In the first 
place it is easily the most beautiful room in 
Europe. More than a thousand people can 
sit at its tables at one time. An orchestra of 
twenty-five men, occupying a balcony under 
an enormous canopy, plays the most won- 
derful dance music. For two hours — and for 
two hours only — dance follows dance almost 
without stopping. Nothing but wine is 
served — no food, no mineral waters. Cham- 
pagne is twenty marks ($5) a bottle, but 
Rhine wine may be ordered at twelve or 
fourteen marks. Practically every one is 
in evening dress, or what Berlin calls 
evening dress. There is a profusion of 
flowers and it is doubtful if a more bril- 
liant sight is to be found anywhere in the 
world. 

At our table we order two bottles of 
champagne, for there are eight of us. We 
drink the health of Gunther, of Gunther's 
father, of his mother, of his sister Lotta, 
of his student friends. But we do not dance. 

23 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

When Gunther visits the Palais de Danse 
with his men friends he dances every 
tango, Boston and one step, but when 
his mother and sister come he remains at 
the table out of respect to them. The 
character of some of the elegantly gowned 
women on the floor is known to Gunther's 
mother and sister. They discuss their 
gowns. Gunther's father — who must have 
been a gay dog in his Heidelberg days — 
gives me a wink. Once or twice I detect 
Gunther smiling to himself; but the deco- 
rum of the place is above reproach. In 
a far corner are two policemen in uniform. 
They look on the gay scene with stolid 
faces, but they have nothing to do. No- 
body ever "starts anything" in Berlin. 

It is now five minutes of two. The lights, 
which have transformed the wonderful 
room into all colors of the rainbow, are 
being dimmed. We have to pay our 
reckoning, tip the waiter a couple of 
marks and leave. But we do not leave 
the Metropolpalast. The Pavilion Mas- 
cotte is opening and we enter its precincts 
for supper. 

The Pavilion Mascotte is simply a big 

24 



BERLIN 

restaurant. There is no dancing, but it 
has a splendid orchestra of nearly twenty 
men, which plays continuously from 2 to 
4 A. M. 

Here we get a table on the main floor 
near the orchestra. We order supper — 
but not champagne. The Pavilion Mascotte 
has fine Pilsener on draught and that is 
what Gunther's father and mother prefer. 
Champagne and beer may not mix in New 
York, but they do in Berlin. 

As the time goes on the place becomes 
noisier. Three Prussian officers try to lead 
the orchestra at the same time. Groups 
of young men burst into song. In far 
corners — and sometimes in plain view — 
kisses are exchanged. On every side you 
hear "Drei Seidel, bitte," "Fuenf Seidel, 
bitte 99 "Mehr Champagner, bitte; 99 but 
nobody is overstimulated. Our party is 
absolutely sober, I'm sure. 

It is now nearly four o'clock. Gunther's 
mama has yawned two or three times and 
she thinks she had better "nach Hause 
gehen." The head of the family admits he 
has an important engagement at 11 o'clock 
in the morning, so we place father, mother 

25 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

and daughter in a taxicab and with many 
farewells speed them to their home in 
Charlottenburg, three miles away. 

But do those who are left go home? No. 
One of Gunther's friends remembers that 
there is a pretty American girl singing in 
a cabaret that opens at 4 A. M., and we 
proceed there to wind up the evening. 
Berlin's night-life is over between five and 
six in the morning — and not before. For 
the gayety of the Kaiser's capital begins at 
the hour when New York's Great White 
Way is preparing for slumber. But it 
takes a German constitution and a German 
cast iron stomach to stand it. 



26 



A "FIRST NIGHT" IN BERLIN 




Night Life 
in Berlin 



A "FIRST NIGHT" IN BERLIN 

AFIRST night at the Deutsches 
Theatre is an event. For the 
l Deutsches Theatre is the first thea- 
tre of Germany — and in the opinion of 
many people the first theatre of Europe. 
Since it has been under the direction of 
Max Reinhardt it has won world wide 
fame and its premieres attract the most 
intellectual first night audiences in the 
world. 

A premiere at the Deutsches Theatre 
begins at seven o'clock but long before that 
hour every seat in the auditorium is filled. 
In the first place it is quite fashionable to 
attend first nights at this playhouse and 
what is perhaps more important, a con- 
siderable portion of Berlin's population 
look upon the Deutsches Theatre as an 
educational institution of the first rank. 

It must be admitted that it is rather 
difficult to get a ticket for a Reinhardt 
premiere. Thousands want to go — and 

[Hi] 29 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

there are only twelve hundred seats. But 
if you are able to buy one you will be 
agreeably surprised in getting exactly what 
you pay for. Tickets in the first row at 
the Deutsches Theatre are 15 marks ($3.75) 
each. From the second to the seventh row 
they are $2.50 each and from the eighth to 
the fifteenth row about $1.88 each. If 
you can only get a ticket in the last row you 
pay but 75 cents — which is far more equi- 
table than paying $2 for a ticket in the 
last row of a New York playhouse because 
the manager sells his best seats to ticket 
agencies to increase his receipts. How- 
ever, there are no sharp practices in Berlin, 
as far as theaters are concerned. 

Like all the Reinhardt first nighters you 
arrive at the theatre ten or fifteen minutes 
before the curtain is announced to rise. 
You check your coat and hat and stick 
(for % l A cents per article) and allow an 
usher to show you to your seat. If you 
want a program you have to pay five cents 
for it, but it is worth the money, for with 
every program is distributed a booklet con- 
taining a dozen critical essays on the play 
you are to see. 

30 



A "FIRST NIGHT' ' IN BERLIN 



You have only to glance around the audi- 
torium to appreciate the fact that you are 
far from Broadway. Although it is a first 
night there are less than a dozen people in 
evening dress. The boxes and loges are 
filled with men in business suits and women 
in what one might call afternoon gowns — 
if one stretched a point. To be sure there 
are a few dinner coats scattered through the 
first orchestra chairs, but there are scarcely 
six correctly attired persons in the audience 
— according to Broadway first night stand- 
ards. 

And the spirit of the audience is entirely 
different from New York's "I-dare-you-to- 
make-me-like-this-play" attitude. The men 
and women in the audience have come to 
see a serious production and when the 
lights are dimmed for the curtain to rise 
the theater is steeped in silence. There are 
no Diamond Jim Bradys to walk down the 
aisle after the curtain has risen. If you 
are not in your seat when the play begins 
you remain outside until the end of the 
first act. 

The play to-night is "Der Kaufmann 
von Venedig" — Shakespeare's "Merchant 

31 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

of Venice." Eight years ago Prof. Rein- 
hardt produced this play at the Deutsches 
Theatre; but this season he is giving a 
"Shakespeare Cyclus" or repertoire of thir- 
teen Shakespearean plays, extending over 
a period of six months. To-night is the 
first performance of the famous play in the 
present cycle and since it is an entirely new 
production all the critics in Berlin are 
present to review it. Engel of the Berliner 
Tageblatt, the Alan Dale of the German 
Capital, is in the fourth row. Close by is 
Claar of the Vossische Zeitung. Directly 
in front of me is a distinguished looking 
man who could easily impersonate the 
Christus in the Passion Play without make- 
up. He is Alfred Kerr, one of the leading 
critics of the theater in Germany. He is a 
"free lance," but newspapers and weekly 
publications engage him to "cover" im- 
portant openings. 

In the very first row is Prince August 
Wilhelm, the fourth son of the German 
Kaiser. Prince August Wilhelm is the 
civilian son of the Great War Lord. He is 
a highly cultivated young man, a doctor 
of philosophy, and he delights in being called 

32 



A "FIRST NIGHT" IN BERLIN 



' 'Professor. " His wife, the Princess August 
Wilhelm, is in the stage box with a party of 
royal guests. For while the Kaiser frowns 
upon the Deutsches Theater (it must be 
remembered he is in the position of a rival 
theatrical manager since he supports and 
practically conducts the Kaiserliches Schau- 
spielhaus) that portion of royalty endowed 
with brains patronizes it on every occasion. 
Prince August Wilhelm attends every first 
night and is one of Max Reinhardt's per- 
sonal friends. 

The play is on. The audience is in 
Venice — not the Venice of a Forty-fifth 
street scene painter, but a real slice of 
Venice built by one of the leading artists 
in Europe. The Deutsches Theatre has a 
revolving stage which enables the scenes 
to be changed almost instantly. The first 
three acts are played consecutively in ten 
scenes. There is not a moment's delay. The 
lights are dimmed, a rumbling sound is 
heard and behold ! Shylock's garden, Portia's 
house or the Grand Canal is before you. 
Every scene is absolutely perfect — it is a 
veritable moving picture in colors with real 



33 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

people speaking the best German to be 
heard anywhere in the world. 

At nine o'clock the tenth scene is over and 
the curtain is rung down. For the first time 
in the evening there is applause. However, 
it is of short duration for the audience is 
intent upon other things. Berlin, like 
Vienna, goes to the theatre on an empty 
stomach and the "lange Pause," as the in- 
termission is called, is devoted to eating 
cold meats, salads and sandwiches and 
drinking much Pilsener and other beers. 
There is a restaurant in the basement of 
the theatre, a buffet on the balcony floor 
and a bar besides. All these places are 
filled to overflowing during the "lange 
Pause" Ex-Colonial Secretary Dernburg, 
who always attends first nights at the 
Deutsches Theater, munches a Blutwurst 
sandwich as he recalls the days spent in 
Wall Street learning frenzied finance. Prof. 
Alois Brandl, head of the English Depart- 
ment at the University of Berlin, and 
recognized as the first Shakespearean scholar 
on the Continent, chats with our Ambas- 
sador, "Jimmy" Gerard, who is as much 
of a first nighter in Berlin as he was in 

34 



A FIRST NIGHT IN BERLIN 

New York. They do not attack the food; 
for, following the American custom, they 
have dined before the theater. 

In the crowd around the bar are Prof. 
Bie, the famous art critic, Prof. Orlik, the 
painter, and Prof. Ordynski, who is Rein- 
hardt's right hand man, and who came to 
New York with "Sumurun." All the lead- 
ing intellectuals of Berlin are there or 
hurrying back to their seats so as not to 
miss a moment of the performance. 

At twenty-five minutes after nine the 
curtain rings up on the fourth act. It is 
played consecutively with the fifth act in 
seven scenes. At eleven o'clock the final cur- 
tain falls and there is a deafening sound 
of applause mingled with cheers. For five 
minutes this applause continues. Albert 
Bassermann, the Shylock, and Else Heims, 
the Portia, appear before the curtain again 
and again. But that does not satisfy the 
audience. They want Reinhardt. The 
cry starts in the gallery, it is taken up in 
the orchestra and spreads to the boxes. 
The Kaiser's son is shouting for the pro- 
ducer. Prof. Brandl is making an inarticu- 
late noise. Everyone is standing up, but 

35 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

no one — not even the critics — has left the 
theater. 

The audience has its way. The curtain 
rises and a smooth shaven, young looking 
man, in evening dress, walks to the center 
of the stage and bows. It is Max Reinhardt, 
the director of the Deutsches Theatre, and 
the foremost producer in Germany. 

The bow satisfies. There is another 
sound of applause followed by a rush for 
the exits. 

A first night at the Deutsches Theatre 
is over. 



36 



PARIS 




Midnight in Montmartre, 
the Wickedest Part of Paris 



PARIS 

BECAUSE this story is about the 
night life of Paris there is no oc- 
casion to hide it from your wife or 
daughter. I doubt if Anthony Comstock 
would blush at anything in it. And 
yet it is a true account of the naughtiest 
night life of gay Paree. 

Good Americans, when they die, go to 
Paris, but live ones go to Berlin. After a 
night in Berlin, Paris seems as lively as a 
cat and seven sleeping kittens behind a 
stove compared with a Bacchanalian orgy. 
One can understand why Englishmen like 
Paris — it is livelier than London in the 
same way that a hospital is livelier than a 
morgue. But why New Yorkers who are 
looking for gayety should ever want to 
spend their time there is a mystery. 

For generations Paris has had the repu- 
tation of being the gayest city at night in 
all the world. Perhaps it was. But to-day 
it is an "also ran." 

39 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

The difference is this. In Paris the night 
life is only for the visitor. The Parisians 
themselves are sound asleep — or at least 
in bed — soon after the clock strikes twelve. 
In Berlin it is the burgher and not the 
visitor who turns night into day and kegs 
of beer into men. 

However, this story is not about Berlin, 
but about Paris. And as it is an account 
of an evening in the French capital I will 
begin at the beginning — the dinner at the 
Restaurant de la Tour d' Argent. 

There are other restaurants in Paris be- 
sides the Silver Tower (to give its English 
name) in the Quai Tournelles, but there is 
none better — especially when it comes to 
preparing a duck. Incidentally it is the old- 
est restaurant in the city and as far back 
as 1582 it was noted for its cuisine. And 
it is Parisian! 

Less than fifty people can dine at the 
"Tour d' Argent" at one time. There is no 
music — no cabaret. Unlike many Broad- 
way restaurants it is a place where food 
is the specialty. A duck-dinner there is a 
never-to-be-forgotten experience. First you 
bail a deep plate of duck soup — not soup 

40 



PARIS 

through which a duck with rubber boots 
has walked — but a soup so ducky you can 
hear the quacks. Then you attack big 
slices of roast duck, covered with a wonder- 
ful thick sauce, which is followed by more 
duck, roasted to a turn and served with- 
out sauce. Every diner at the "Tour 
d' Argent" has a whole duck to himself. 
I had Canard No. 38,793, according to the 
head waiter who knew the duck personally. 
When I finished, with dry ears, about 

9 P. M, I did not dash off for the Opera 
or the Comedie-Francaise, for I was with a 
Parisian and he assured me that the Opera 
was very bad and the Comedie-Francaise 
terribly "bourgeoises 

"You must go to the Bouffes-Parisiens 
and see Sacha Guitry's new piece," said my 
friend. "It is the smartest theatre and 
quite the best play in Paris." 

So to the Bouffes-Parisiens we went. It 
proved to be Henri Bernstein's playhouse, 
and, like most Paris theatres, it did not 
begin until quarter past nine. We paid 12 
frs. ($2.40) apiece for orchestra seats, but 

10 per cent, of that was a tax for charity 
levied by the city. We had to buy pro- 

41 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

grammes for 50 centimes (10 cents) each; 
check our coats for the same amount and 
tip the usherine who seated us with a 
franc. Usherines in Paris playhouses do 
not receive salaries. Instead they come to 
you at the end of the first act and demand 
a tip for their services. Thus it will be seen 
that theatre-going here is somewhat ex- 
pensive compared with New York. 

I was anxious to visit a few music halls, 
I so persuaded my friend to leave the 
Bouffes-Parisiens at the end of the second 
act to take me to the Folies-Bergere. But 
soon after we arrived in that much-talked 
about playhouse I discovered my mistake. 
A poorer revue I had never seen. 

The Moulin Rouge up in Montmartre 
proved equally disappointing. A Bowery 
burlesque show is more interesting — and 
naughtier. 

"These places are for out-of-town visi- 
tors," explained my friend. "I've lived in 
Paris twenty years, but this is the first time 
I've ever been here." A survey of the 
audience convinced me that he spoke the 
truth. Every nationality but French was 
there. 

42 



PARIS 

Shortly before twelve the final curtain 
fell — all performances in Paris end about 
midnight — and we escaped to the open air. 

"And now for supper!" I exclaimed, hail- 
ing a disreputable looking taxicab (there 
are no others in Paris, although their low 
rates recommend them). "A place where 
there are Parisians. I can see Englishmen 
in London." 

"Bourgeois or smart set?" asked my 
friend. I answered "both," and his order 
was the "Cafe de la Paix" across from the 
Opera. When we had found a table my 
friend explained that Parisians are not 
much given to after theatre suppers. The 
Cafe de Paris and the Cafe Riche, he said, 
were patronized only by out-of-town visi- 
tors. Parisians don't waste their money in 
expensive restaurants. 

However, there was a room full of French 
people at the Cafe de la Paix. Its Hun- 
garian orchestra, led by the famous Boldi, 
lived up to its reputation as the best in 
Paris and its cuisine proved above reproach. 
Moreover, its prices were low. But long 
before 1 A. M. it was deserted and we were 
forced to seek "life" elsewhere. 

43 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

"On to Maxirnes'!" I commanded. 

My friend smiled. "L'Abbaye, you mean. 
Everything in that line is up in Montmartre 
now, " he explained. 

"But Maxirnes'," I protested, "Is that 
a myth, too?" 

"No, it exists. I'll take you there if you 
want to go," he answered, "but nobody 
goes there any more — at least as they used 
to go there. L'Abbaye is the leading night 
rendezvous." 

So to L'Abbaye we went — a restaurant 
as small as one corner of a Berlin "ball 
establishment." We found places along 
the wall with forty or fifty English, Ameri- 
can and Russian visitors of both sexes. 
An Italian waiter took our order and we 
turned our attention to the Spanish dancers 
who were performing in the centre of the 
room. It was less Parisian than a French 
restaurant in New York. There, at least, 
some of the waiters are French. 

For two hours the gayety consisted of 
ordering champagne and throwing cellu- 
loid balls at the people across the room, 
while the Hungarian orchestra played Amer- 
ican ragtime masterpieces. 

44 



PARIS 

By half -past three or four — the time when 
many cafes in Berlin open their doors for 
the evening — the crowd at L'Abbaye had 
dwindled down to six or seven drinkers. 
And again we were forced to move. My 
heart was set on Maximes'. 

Another fond illusion shattered! About 
a score of Englishmen and two Americans 
we had seen at L'Abbaye were sitting in 
the main room drinking champagne all 
by their lonesomeness. A few battle- 
scarred veterans of the dear unfair sex 




A Wild 
Night at 
Maxime's 



[iv] 



45 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

were by themselves in a corner. To drop 
into the vernacular, Maximes' is a ' 'joint" 
— and a small, tawdry one at that. And 
long before 5 A. M. it is as dead as the 
Museum of Natural History, for English 
and American visitors go to bed before 
daylight even in Paris. 

So at 4:30 A. M. we called it a "night" 
and sought our downy couches. It was that 
or sleep in the streets. In Paris there is 
no place else to go. 






46 



FIRST NIGHTING" IN PARIS 



"FIRST NIGHTING" IN PARIS 



F: 
J 



"T^URST NIGHTS" in Paris are a 
thing of the past. Paradoxical 
as this may seem it is actually 
true. For all the people who used 
to make up "first nights" audiences see 
the new plays at their repetition generale. 
Often two and even three of these functions 
are given before a new play is offered to the 
public — so that by the "first night" a play 
is stale. 

A repetition generale used to be called a 
dress rehearsal — and as is the custom all 
over Europe the critics were invited to 
witness the performance, but they were 
placed on their honor not to write about 
the play until after its formal "first night." 
To-day, however, a repetition generale is 
not a rehearsal at all. It is the first public 
performance of a play — yet entirely dif- 
ferent from a "first night." It is a sort of 
trial trip for a special public, and has 
become the dressiest and most sought- 

49 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

after function in twentieth century Paris. 
It is also above all things, for the stranger, 
a marvellous lesson in humbug. The 
theatrical world of Paris has learned how 
necessary humbug is in modern life, and the 
repetition generate is a very excellent object 
lesson in the knowledge. 

All who attend this function are the 
guests of the management. That is to say 
the manager, the author, and the members 
of the cast, the dressmakers, stage fur- 
nishers, scene-shifters, everybody who has 
anything to do with the production, has a 
right to invite a certain number of friends. 
This being so, the verdict of the repetition 
generate audience is the severest verdict 
which the play will ever get, and very 
often plays have been half-failures at this 
repetition generate, and boomed success- 
fully for several hundred nights. For the 
general attitude is that of "I-dare-you-to- 
make-me-laugh." People do not mind 
applauding so as to be polite, but so many 
people present are interested in the play 
business themselves, that comparatively 
few of them are very anxious for the play 
to be a success. 

50 



FIRST NIGHTING IN PARIS 

Quite an instructive entertainment at a 
repetition generate in Paris is, after listening 
to the "Mais cest charmant! Quel esprit! 
Que eest delicieuxl" and similar exclama- 
tions of delight, to wriggle out of the lighted 
stalls or balcony into the comparative dark- 
ness back in the corridors and listen to what 
the exclaimers whisper after they have 
exclaimed. It is also very interesting to 
hear the different opinions expressed by 
the same persons to their own friends and 
the friends of the author or the actor or 
the actress of whom they are talking. In 
fact, the more one goes with eyes and ears 
open to the repetitione generate the more 
one becomes convinced of the fact that if 
Ananias and Sapphira had lived in our 
day they would have been immensely 
popular favorites in Paris. 

The iron door which separates the stage 
from the front of the house is always 
opened and left open after each act of the 
modern repetition generate, for two-thirds 
of the audience really has some right to 
go behind and congratulate the author, 
and the manager, and the actors, and the 
actresses, and the other third, which used 

51 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

to be refused admission, made such a noise 
about it that it became simpler and easier 
to let them all through. The principal 
business of each entr'acte is to embrace the 
author. 

How poor M. Francois de Curel suffered 
the evening I was there! It was the 
repetition generate of La Danse devant le 
Miroir at the Nouvel Ambigu theater. 
With most of the audience I went behind 
the scenes at the end of the second act to 
congratulate the author. What I saw 
would have resulted in several sudden 
deaths in an American playhouse. Forty 
or fifty highly excited, long-whiskered 
Frenchmen were shoving and pushing each 
other about in their frantic efforts to kiss 
the author. They kissed the back of his 
head, his ears; in fact, every available 
place. When they were through the women 
got a chance. They mobbed him on all 
sides and kissed him until his face was 
streaked with rouge and face powder, his 
glasses broken and his hair rumpled like 
that of a football player. 

I waited until the mob had left to attack 
M. Garry, the leading player, before I 

52 



: FIRST NIGHTING" IN PARIS 



congratulated M. de Curel on his success. 
He was trying to wipe his mouth and 
cheeks with his handkerchief and when I 
only shook hands with him, and did not 
venture a kiss, he pressed my hand firmly 
and said "You are a real friend. Tell me, 
do you like the play? And do you think it 
will be a success? 

"I like it tremendously," I hastened to 
assure him, although I had never seen any- 
thing quite as bad. "But of course that 
does not mean it will be a success. Still, 
from the kissing you underwent, I should 
say that it looks like a winner." 

"My friend," said M. de Curel, "at the 
repetition generate of my last play I was 
kissed by three times as many people and 
my play only ran two weeks." And M. de 
Curel, let it be known, is considered one of 
the greatest dramatic authors of France. 

I must give a very brief outline of La 
danse devant le Miroir, it is so typically 
Parisian. American theatergoers will be 
interested in it because its leading feminine 
role is played by Mme. Simone, who tried 
so hard to establish herself as a star on our 
stage. 

53 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

Voila! Face to face with ruin, Paul 
Brean throws himself into the Seine, rather 
than confess his love to Regine, whose 
fortune he is afraid he may appear to covet. 
But he is rescued from the river, and Regine 
offers him her hand. He refuses, and to 
establish between them a kind of equality, 
Regine makes him believe that she needs 
to be saved from dishonor. Out of devo- 
tion, he consents to give her his name. 
Then, learning he has been told a fairy-tale, 
he in turn plays a part: he pretends he still 
believes in her lapse. The result is a mis- 
understanding that is prolonged right up 
to the wedding night. Regine would like 
to ascertain whether Brean is really a hero- 
lover, or, on the contrary, merely a low 
speculator decked out with the mask of 
a knight, and Brean, to quell her perplexi- 
ties, shoots himself while she is embracing 
him. 

However, Robert de Flers and M. F. 
Duquesnel, two of the leading critics in 
Paris, said it was very fine and Edmond 
See, another critic, added his word of 
praise. But Paris is a long way from New 
York. 

54 






"FIRST NIGHTING" IN PARIS 

I was told that some years ago the repe- 
tition generate was a real dress rehearsal. 
There were never to be more than thirty 
critics and other folk whose business was 
the stage, and they were expected to come 
back to the first night. If anything went 
at all wrong, it was done over again and 
rehearsals used to be over at three or half- 
past in the morning. 

Nowadays the dressmakers, a few critics, 
and a few friends manage to fill the house 
at the rehearsal which is called the dress- 
makers' and photographers' rehearsal, but 
they do not appear in evening dress. The 
real dress rehearsal is now two or three days 
before the show. By the first night the 
play is stale. 



55 



ST. PETERSBURG 




At the 

Marinsky 

Theatre 



ST. PETERSBURG 

THE difference in time between St. 
Petersburg and Berlin is exactly 
sixty-one minutes, but the kind 
of time you have there depends entirely 
on what you want. 

St. Petersburg presents greater contrasts 
in its life than any city in Europe. There 
is no middle class, which means you can 
dine well for sixty or seventy kopecks 
(thirty or thirty-five cents) or for twenty 
or thirty roubles (ten or fifteen dollars). 
The sixty kopeck diner never gets into the 
thirty rouble place, as he sometimes does 
in New York — or in Berlin for that matter. 
The "Hallroom Boys" kind of sport does 
not exist in the Czar's capital. 

The result is that Petersburg (no one in 
Russia ever says Saint Petersburg) has the 
most elegant and certainly most costly 
night life in the world. It is impossible for 
pikers to pike in its gay restaurants, which, 

59 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

by the way, do not open until 11 P. M. 
Even the possession of a bank roll, the 
usual qualification for admission to sanc- 
tuaries of pleasure, does not always suffice 
here. Birth and social position come before 
everything else in the city on the Neva. 

In Petersburg it is not fashionable to 
"dine out," as it is in New York. If you 
have a letter of introduction to a Russian, 
it matters not whether he is an aristocrat 
or a merchant, you will be invited to his 
home for dinner at half -past six. 

I had a very difficult time persuading my 
Petersburg host to take dinner at a restau- 
rant. It was not until I had been at his house 
three times that he consented to dine with 
me at Nemenchinsky's, just off the Nevsky 
Prospect. 

We arrived there early, for we had 
tickets for the ballet at the Marinsky 
Opera, which, like every other theatrical 
entertainment in this city, begins at eight 
sharp. After we had shed our wraps we 
proceeded to the buffet, where, instead of a 
bartender, was a waiter who served up a 
dozen different kinds of Zakussa, as the 
hors-d'oeuvres are called. 

60 



ST. PETERSBURG 

A pickled mushroom or a gob of caviar 
replaces the cocktail in Russia and, just as 
it is not uncommon to take three or four 
cocktails before dinner on Broadway, so 
it is not unusual for a Russian to eat ten 
or fifteen different kinds of hors-d'oeuvres 
at the buffet before sitting down to dinner. 
It may be added that caviar at Nemen- 
chinsky's does not taste like bird shot 
pickled in hair oil. 

In the main dining-room a big balalaika 
orchestra is playing. No, it is not ragtime. 
It is Tschaikowsky's "Barcarolle," or Schu- 
mann's "Warum." 

We order the table d'hote dinner. Almost 
immediately we are served with borcht- 
chok, a beet soup, into which we place 
heaping spoonfuls of sour cream. Fresh 
water fish from Lake Ladoga come next, 
followed by roast beef sliced in our presence 
from huge barons of Caucasian beef. Wild 
roast turkey with huge roasted chestnuts 
is the next course, washed down with 
Imperial wine from the Crimea. For 
dessert we have a compote of Crimean 
fruits covered with cream so rich that it 
could almost stand alone. 

[v] 61 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

The service is so perfect that I compli- 
ment the waiter. He does not understand 
my German, but my Petersburg friend 
explains the cause of this excellence. 

Nemenchinsky's is a co-operative restau- 
rant. Its three hundred and fifty waiters 
and cooks are all shareholders. They try 
to please, for they want us to dine there 
again. So, autocratic Russia takes the lead 
in a new democratic enterprise. 

The check is only three roubles ($1.50), 
plus one rouble (50 cents) for the wine! 
Nemenchinsky's, although a first-class din- 
ing place, is very cheap. Aristocrats never 
go there. It was my Petersburg friend's 
first visit. We were the only diners in 
evening dress. 

It is a far cry from Nemenchinsky's to the 
Marinsky Opera House. The Marinsky 
is the home of the Imperial Russian Ballet 
and the Imperial Opera. Getting a ticket 
for a Caruso night at our Metropolitan is 
like taking candy from a blind child com- 
pared with getting a seat at the Marinsky. 
The tickets, which are ten roubles ($5) 
each, are nearly all in the hands of aris- 
tocratic families who have had the same 

62 



ST. PETERSBURG 

places for generations. On Sunday and 
Wednesday nights, when the Imperial bal- 
let appears, the best seats often bring fifty 
and one hundred roubles apiece. To pay 
five hundred roubles for a box is quite the 
ordinary thing when a new ballet is to be 
given. 

The Marinsky Opera House is not as large 
as our Metropolitan; it is not as beauti- 
ful as the Paris Opera, but its audience 
on a ballet night is the most brilliant in 
the world. The jewels and costly furs worn 
by the women make even our Diamond 
Horseshoe sink into insignificance. Fully 
one-third of the men are in gorgeous uni- 
forms. The others, of course, are in evening 
dress. 

Even for beauty it would be hard to 
surpass the feminine part of a Marinsky 
audience. That, however, is a matter of 
taste. The brilliant picture is unques- 
tionable. 

The ballet to-night is Tschaikowsky's 
"Sleeping Beauty." It is glorious beyond 
description. A dozen Pavlowas are on the 
great stage. One hundred and ten musi- 
cians are in the orchestra. New York 

63 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

critics have praised the Russian ballet at 
the Metropolitan. In its home there is 
nothing to compare with it in the whole 
world. 

It is now eleven o'clock. The ballet is over 
and we emerge from the warm opera house 
to find* it snowing — the first snow of the 
season. Most people forget — if they ever 
knew — that Petersburg has about the same 
climate as London. Deep snow, troikas 
and other such things exist only in novels 
of Petersburg life written by ' 'hacks" who 
never lived there. 

Petersburg is as up-to-date as any city 
in Europe. And it is in a big, roomy taxi- 
cab we leave the opera for the Aquarium. 
Twenty kopecks a verst is the charge in 
Petersburg; and, as two versts are consider- 
ably more than a mile, it will be seen that 
the rates are very low. In fifteen minutes 
we arrive at the Aquarium, the largest and 
smartest after-theatre establishment in the 
capital. Why it is so named nobody 
knows, unless, perhaps, it is because the 
people who visit it drink like fish. It is 
a handsome stone structure on the Kamen- 
noostrovsky Prospect, which translated 

64 



ST. PETERSBURG 

means Rock Island Avenue. It contains an 
ice palace, where one can dine or skate; 
a theatre in which variety performances 
are given from 11.30 P. M. to 4 A. M.; 
dozens of cabinets or private dining-rooms 
in which one can sup with or without 
music; and last but not least a gorgeous 
hall in which the Champagne Tangos are 
given. 

We choose the Champagne Tango — which 
costs six roubles ($3) entrance fee for the 
privilege of ordering champagne at fourteen 
roubles ($7) per bottle. However, salted 
peanuts were served free with the wine! 

Nearly three hundred men and women? 
the men in uniforms or evening dress, are 
seated at long tables drinking champagne 
from long stemmed glasses and watching 
Renato and his fair partner tango up and 
down the lanes between the chairs. It is 
a brilliant scene. 

The Aquarium is eminently respectable. 
Most of the officers and aristocrats at the 
Champagne Tango are with their wives. 
The dancing is done only by the paid per- 
formers. No one attempts to lead the 
orchestra or to christen magnums with 

65 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

pint bottles of champagne. There is a 
certain elegance about the scene that is 
found in no other capital. 

We tire of the tango and visit the ice 
palace, where gay parties are dining, and 
where expert skaters perform seemingly im- 
possible feats. We visit the theatre, where 
a vaudeville show of twenty acts is given, 
while supper is served to four hundred 
people. Time has sped and the cabaret 
is beginning — it is half past two! 

My Petersburg host is anxious for me 
to see more, so we taxi to the Villa Rode 
in the Novaya Derevuys, almost on the 
outskirts of the city. It is almost a replica 
of the Aquarium. A variety show is in 
progress in the main hall, which is filled 
with diners. The performance runs until 
5 A. M., but the proprietor confides to us 
that it is a hard matter to close at that 
hour, his guests often insisting upon re- 
maining until six and even seven o'clock. 

We order champagne (here it is only 
twelve roubles a bottle) and see a few 
"turns." The orchestra is surprisingly 
good. There is also a troupe of gypsies 
who play wicked czardas as only Rouman- 

66 



ST. PETERSBURG 

ian gypsies can. Although corks are pop- 
ping on all sides there is not the slightest 
breach of decorum — even at 4 A. M. 

The reason for this is very simple. The 
people who participate in the night life of 
Petersburg are all aristocrats — nobles, high 
government officials, military and naval 
officers and men of great wealth. Clerks, 
shopkeepers, students and the like are not 
admitted to establishments like the Aqua- 
rium and the Villa Rode. Besides, the night 
life is so expensive that it is only for the 
rich, or the aristocrats who can run into 
debt with impunity. 

Even the establishments which are not 
so decorous as the Aquarium — for instance, 
the Zoologitshesky Sad or the all-night 
variety show in the restaurant of the 
Palace Theatre — are patronized almost en- 
tirely by aristocrats. Champagne is the 
rule everywhere. The cafes and restau- 
rants patronized by merchants and the like 
are closed by midnight — the hour when life 
begins for their more fortunate brothers and 
sisters. 

If you obey the rule of early to bed and 

67 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

early to rise in Petersburg you will never 
see the aristocracy of Russia. 



68 



A NIGHT WITH THE COMMON 
PEOPLE 



A NIGHT WITH THE COMMON 
PEOPLE 

AND NOW for a night with the 
people of St. Petersburg, the com- 
l. mon people as distinguished from 
the aristocrats or even the merely rich. 

We are going to the Narodny Dom — or, 
to give its full Russian title — the People's 
Palace of Emperor Nicholas II. It is the 
only institution of its kind in the entire 
world, and outside of Russia it is practically 
unknown. 

Sociologists and others interested in bet- 
tering the conditions of the masses rarely 
visit Russia. Russia is supposed to be a 
country where only aristocrats find living 
tolerable. It is taken for granted that 
nothing is done for the common people. 
Yet in the Czar's capital more is being done 
to improve living conditions for the masses 
than in any city in the world! And chief 
among its institutions for civic betterment 

71 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

is the Narodny Dom; or, House of the 
People. 

The Narodny Dom is a huge building — 
or, rather, succession of buildings — in the 
Alexander Park, on the Petersburg side 
of the Czar's capital. It is almost under 
the shadows of the famous Fortress of St. 
Peter and St. Paul, yet two more widely 
different structures could not be imagined. 
The Fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul is 
an old-fashioned stone fortress. The Narod- 
ny Dom is a steel building of the latest 
construction. The Fortress of St. Peter 
and St. Paul has been used for two centuries 
to make the common people slaves. The 
Narodny Dom is being used to uplift them 
and make them free. Strictly speaking, it 
is not an imperial institution. It was the 
gift of the Czar to the people of St. Peters- 
burg, but it is conducted by the munici- 
pality. Of course, it is run at a huge loss, 
the municipality appropriating a sum in 
excess of one million roubles a year to meet 
its deficit. However, the institution is un- 
der the protection of the Czar, and he aids 
it financially from his purse. 



72 



A NIGHT WITH THE COMMON PEOPLE 

The Narodny Dom comprises three thea- 
tres, a concert hall and a mammoth restau- 
rant, all under one roof. One of the theatres 
is devoted to dramatic productions, one to 
variety, and the third — a huge auditorium, 
seating 4,000 people — is devoted to grand 
opera. The concert hall is so arranged that 
10,000 people can promenade in it while 
a band or orchestra is playing. 

The restaurant is perhaps the unique 
feature of this institution; it seats more 
than 5,000 people at one time. On many 
occasions — feast days, holidays and the 
like— between 15,000 and 20,000 are fed 
in it. 

Admission to the Narodny Dom is fif- 
teen kopecks, which is about l}/2 cents in 
our money. For this a visitor can hear the 
orchestral or band concert which is given 
nightly, visit the variety playhouse and 
witness a performance in the Little Theatre, 
as the playhouse devoted to dramatic pro- 
ductions is called. 

Admission to the big auditorium, where 
grand opera is given, is extra. However, 
50 kopecks (25 cents) will purchase a seat 
in the balconies, so it will be seen that its 

73 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

performances are within reach of practi- 
cally every one. 

Other institutions have attempted to 
give operatic and dramatic productions 
at "popular" prices, but the great restau- 
rant in the Narodny Dom is in a class by 
itself. Its food is served at cost. A dinner 
of four or five courses can be had for 18 
or 20 cents. The very best quality of food 
is purchased. It is inspected by food ex- 
perts, employed by the city, and cooked in 
a great kitchen, which is open to the diners. 
The cooks are inspected daily by physi- 
cians, as are the waitresses who serve it. 
A fresh paper tablecloth is laid for every 
diner, and, wonder of wonders — tipping is 
absolutely prohibited. 

It is an actual fact that one can dine 
better and for less money at the Narodny 
Dom than in most restaurants in St. 
Petersburg. The entire institution is run 
on a temperance basis. Various soft drinks 
are served at stands, scattered through the 
vast building, but neither vodka — the na- 
tional Russian drink — nor any other intox- 
icants are permitted to be sold within its 
walls. Temperance advocates in St. Peters- 

74 



A NIGHT WITH THE COMMON PEOPLE 

burg claim it has decreased the sale of 
intoxicants 20 per cent. 

Every night of the week and on Sundays 
and holiday afternoons between fifteen and 
twenty-five thousand people visit this great 
pleasure resort. They listen to the orches- 
tra which plays in the great promenade, 
attend one of the three theatrical perform- 
ances, and sup in the mammoth restaurant. 
An evening of enjoyment is theirs for a few 
cents. Nowhere in the world is as much 
offered for so little money. 

The evening I visited the Narodny Dom 
there were fully fifteen thousand people in 
the building — yet I was told it was an 
"off night." The great structure was 
ablaze with lights, which were reflected 
in the crystal snow outside. Fifteen kopecks 
enabled me to pass the turnstiles and to 
enter the promenade. A procession of 
people twenty to thirty abreast was moving 
in a huge circle around the lower floor. 
The balcony was also black with people, 
except where an orchestra in uniform was 
playing a stirring march. 

I made my way through the crowd to 
the variety theatre, where two knockabout 

75 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

comedians — American "artists," by the way 
— were causing a veritable uproar. The 
audience was standing up — rows of soldiers, 
with their caps in their hands, and their 
wives or sweethearts ; and scores of working- 
men in blouses, with their wives or sweet- 
hearts, and scores of boys. Certainly the 
two comedians could not have wished for a 
more appreciative audience, and certainly 
the audience could not have demanded a 
better bill. The three turns I saw — an 
acrobatic act and a vocalist followed the 
knockabout turn — compared favorably with 
turns on our first-class vaudeville stages. 

"Kismet," Edward Knoblauch's Oriental 
drama, was the bill in the Little Theatre, 
which, by the way, seats nearly 2,000 
people. Of course, its production was not 
anywhere near as lavish as we saw it with 
Otis Skinner as the star, but it was a credit- 
able production and well acted. A dramatic 
stock company is part of the operating 
force at the Narodny Dom, and every week 
a new play is presented. Reserved seats 
in the orchestra are extra, but admission 
to the balconies is covered by the general 
admission of 7^ cents. 

76 



A NIGHT WITH THE COMMON PEOPLE 

I next visited the Big Theatre, where 
Tschaikowsky's "Queen of Spades" was be- 
ing sung. Two roubles (one dollar) was the 
price of an orchestra seat, although I could 
have had a place in one of the six balconies 
for fifty kopecks (25 cents). The big audi- 
torium was well filled, and it did not take 
me long to appreciate the fact that the 
opera was well sung. It is doubtful if 
better opera can be heard for the same 
admission anywhere in the world. The 
Big Theatre is quite new — less than a year 
old — and it is a marvel in equipment. It 
has its own stock company, which is aug- 
mented by famous singers from the Im- 
perial Marinsky Theatre, who are loaned 
by the Czar. Even Chaliapine, the eminent 
basso (who once appeared at the Metro- 
politan in New York City), sings at the 
Narodny Dom a few times each season. 
Of course, the dramatic and operatic fea- 
tures of the institution are run at a tremen- 
dous loss, but the municipality makes up 
the deficit. Many of the operatic pro- 
ductions rival those at the Imperial Marin- 
sky Theatre. Nowhere in Russia, for 

[vi] 77 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

instance, is Tschaikowsky's "Eugene One- 
gin" better sung. 

Between the acts at both the Little and 
Big Theatres a large part of the audience 
visits the buffets in the restaurants for 
zakouska — as the tidbits of caviar, smoked 
fish and pickled vegetables are called. 
Eight kopecks (four cents) buys an ap- 
preciable amount, and two kopecks (one 
cent) buys a real "thirst-quencher,' ' a sort 
of wild cherry phosphate. 

After the performance I dined in the big 
restaurant, where I was waited on by an at- 
tractive Russian girl. The prices of the dishes 
were printed on the paper tablecloth 
which she spread before me. Borchtchok, 
a beet soup with sour cream, was two cents; 
rastyagny, a fish pie, was eight cents, 
and paskha, a delicious dish made of fresh 
cheese, eggs and sugar, was seven cents 
additional. My dinner was seventeen cents 
and no tip. Yet the food was of the best 
quality, and orchestral music could be heard 
floating in from the great promenade. 

When I left the great building and 
emerged into the winter night it was after 
midnight. A waiting taxi pulled up and 

78 



A NIGHT WITH THE COMMON PEOPLE 

its driver opened its door for me to jump in, 
but I felt an humble izvoztchik would be 
more in keeping with the evening. Ac- 
cordingly I rode homeward across the Neva 
in the little sledge behind the bulky form of 
my Russian driver. 



79 



MOSCOW 




Returning from the 
Yard Establishment 
in a Troika 



MOSCOW 

IF YOUR mental picture of Moscow 
has been formed from "Darkest Rus- 
sia," "Siberia" and other similar Rus- 
sian melodramas, prepare to be disillu- 
sioned! The real Moscow is no more like 
the Moscow of fiction than the real Japan is 
like the prints of Hokusai. 

Nihilists, police spies, cruel officials and 
the like exist only in the imagination of 
writers — so far as Moscow is concerned. 
This is a story of fact — hence the difference. 

Moscow in the year 1914 is a city of 
nearly two million people, with scores of 
millionaires who make most of our Broad- 
way spenders look like pikers, with cafes 
and restaurants that surpass anything we 
have in New York, and with the gayest, 
liveliest and naughtiest night life in the 
world! You don't believe it? 

That's because you are not aware that 
Moscow, despite its age, is in the midst of 

83 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

a "boom." The tremendous oil, mining 
and commercial development in Southern 
Russia has made scores of millionaires al- 
most over night. Moscow is the wealthiest 
and will soon be the largest city in the 
country. Naturally, "high living" follows. 
And here ends your lesson in Russian 
commercial history. 

Like St. Petersburg, Moscow is not given 
to dining out. It is a city of merchants 
and business men, and they dine in the 
bosoms of their families. The Hermitage 
and Martijuish's, two of the leading res- 
taurants, are never filled at dinner time. 
Nevertheless they are very interesting, 
especially the latter, which is in the Great 
Arcade. 

So to the Great Arcade I went for dinner. 
It was fortunate that I was accompanied 
by a Russian friend, for at Marti juish's 
only Russian, Tartar and Grusian (hon- 
estly, that's a language) are spoken. 

One could easily get lost in this mammoth 
building, which is as big as half a dozen 
Broadway restaurants rolled into one. 

Ttoere is no bowing, supercilious head 
waiter to show you to a table, agree with 

84 



MOSCOW 

you on the weather and suggest celery 
and other dishes that the restaurant wants 
to get rid of. At Martijuish's you take 
any table you find empty and a Tartar 
waiter in an immaculate white kaftan and 
high patent leather boots (like a Russian 
dancer) is on the job to take your order. 

Like true Russians, we began our meal 
with cold fish and vodka, which tastes not 
unlike hair tonic, but produces results. 
Between swallows I had an opportunity 
to survey the other diners. They were 
what a Biblical scholar would describe as a 
motley gathering. Not one was in evening 
dress. Many of them were in blue flannel 
shirts. High boots were more common 
than ordinary shoes. The few women at 
the nearby tables were also plainly dressed, 
but diamonds sparkled on their fingers and 
in their ears. 

Dress plays a small part in Moscow. 
Aristocrats are few and far between. The 
diners at Martijuish's are only merchants, 
but there is more gold in their pockets than 
in the wallets of the fashionable official set 
in St. Petersburg. At the next table is 
Charetenonoki, the sugar king of Russia. 

85 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

Like ourselves, he is putting rye and 
sour cream in his beet soup. Yet he could 
buy out half of the smart set in the capital. 

Close by is an unkempt man who seems 
in imminent danger of cutting himself with 
his knife. My Russian friend tells me he 
is the owner of eight thousand horses. In 
Moscow the apparel does not proclaim the 
man. Men who look like horse thieves 
order champagne with their dinner. There 
is no sham or pretense here. Money talks 
with a big vocabulary. 

It is now eight o'clock. We call for our 
check. It is fourteen roubles, for we have 
had fish from the Caspian Sea, roast pheas- 
ant, endive salad and fruits from the Crimea 
in addition to several glasses of vodka and a 
box of cigarettes. 

In Moscow one smokes a fresh cigarette 
between every course. We pay our bill and 
hurry to the street, for we are bound for the 
Art Theatre, where the performance has 
already begun. 

Moscow has three theatres devoted to 
grand opera and a dozen devoted to Russian 
dramas and musical comedy. Of these the 
most famous is the Moscow Art Theatre. 

86 



MOSCOW 

Nowhere is realistic drama better acted 
than on the stage of this playhouse, the 
first theatre of Russia. Seats are five 
roubles ($2.50) each, but they are worth 
it. The play is "The Possessed," a drama- 
tization of one of Dostoyef sky's novels of 
Russian life. 

It is superbly staged and acted, but there 
is no applause. Applause and curtain calls 
are forbidden at the Art Theatre, for Art 
here is spelled with a capital "A." So, you 
see, it is not a bit like "Darkest Russia." 

It is now eleven o'clock — the hour when 
the ancient capital of Russia shakes off her 
lethargy. Theatre-going in Moscow is not 
very gay, especially at the Art Theatre, 
which is too distinctly highbrow. But at 
eleven o'clock the gay restaurants and 
music halls open their doors and life begins. 

We elect to visit "Thomas's," for my 
Russian friend informs me it is presided over 
by an American, and I am anxious to see 
a fellow-countryman. We hail a passing 
izvoztchik, as the sledges are called, and 
bargain for the trip. There are no regular 
cab rates in Moscow. The price depends 
upon several things — the absence or pres- 

87 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

ence of other sledges in the vicinity, the 
quality of your fur overcoat and the degree 
of hurry. However, we have no difficulty 
and arrive at "Thomas's" after a short 
drive. 

"Thomas's" is indeed presided over by an 
American, and a blacker American I never 
saw in all my life. "Mr." Thomas is a 
"cullud" gentleman who came to Russia 
some years ago as a valet to a grand duke. 
His Highness took such a fancy to him that 
he started him in business, and to-day 
"Mr." Thomas is the proprietor of one of 
the largest and finest restaurant music- 
halls in Russia. He expressed himself as 
delighted to meet a New Yorker and offered 
to show us his establishment — which saved 
us ten roubles entrance fee. 

"Thomas's" is a huge building. In its 
main restaurant, where several hundred 
people can dine at one time, a crowd of 
people were finding their way to the tables, 
although the scheduled performance had 
not begun. They were rather more stylishly 
dressed than the diners at Martijuish's, 
but far from distinguished in appearance. 

"See that little feller over there," said 

88 






MOSCOW 

"Mr." Thomas, pointing to a short man 
with an Oriental cast of countenance. 
"He's a Persian silk merchant — one of the 
best sports we have in Moscow; always 
orders champagne by the dozen and spends 
five or six hundred roubles every time he 
comes in here." 

The cabaret room was empty, "Mr." 
Thomas explaining that it did not open 
until 2.30 A. M. The tango room was also 
deserted — not until 2 A. M. would the 
first dance begin. There were forty or 
fifty people in the dimly lighted Turkish 
room, where a Hindu orchestra was play- 
ing, and as many in the American cham- 
pagne bar, where only bubble stuff at 
thirteen and fourteen roubles ($6.50 and 
$7) a bottle is served. 

"The performance won't be very good 
to-night," explained "Mr." Thomas when 
we returned to the big restaurant. "One 
of the grand dukes is givin' a party at his 
Moscow palace and I'm helpin' him out, 
jest as a friend. I've sent half my talent 
there, but I likes to help out these Rus- 
sian gentlemen, especially if they is grand 

89 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

dukes. They is great sports and spend lots 
of money with me." 

If we had not been anxious to visit 
"The Bat," an all-night theatre which 
begins at midnight, we might have remained 
at "Thomas's" and allowed his Caucasian 
chef to prepare a rack of lamb a la Tiflis — 
his specialty. But when we arrived at 
"The Bat" we did not regret that we had 
made the change. 

There is nothing like this institution 
anywhere in the world. Every night from 
midnight until 5 A. M. thirty little playlets, 
more than half of them musical, are given 
in an underground theatre. 

It was 5 A. M., in fact, when we went to 
the Restaurant "John," which does not 
open till that hour. There we had some 
caviar, pickled fish and champagne before 
going home to bed. But the night was not 
yet over for a good many hundred Moscow 
citizens. Work is for workmen and time 
is made only for slaves in the ancient 
capital of Russia. 



90 



A "FIRST NIGHT" AT THE MOSCOW 
ART THEATRE 




Dinner 

at 

Martijuish's 



A FIRST NIGHT AT THE MOSCOW 
ART THEATRE 

IT WAS the first night of "The Pos- 
sessed" at the Moscow Art Theatre. 
I had been warned to be in my seat at 
eight o'clock as it is the custom at the Mos- 
cow Art Theatre to close the doors at 
that hour and allow no one in the audi- 
torium after the play has begun. So I 
arrived early for I was anxious to study the 
audience at this famous theatre in the 
heart of the Czar's dominions. 

A few minutes in the foyer were sufficient 
to convince me that the first performance of 
the Dostoyefsky drama would be wit- 
nessed by a gathering of "intellectuals." 
There were no gorgeous uniforms, no elab- 
orate gowns. Less than a dozen persons 
were in evening dress. Yet the orchestra 
chairs were five roubles ($2.50) each. 

A warning bell sent me hurrying to find 
my seat. I was just in time for the doors 

[vii] 93 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

were being closed. A few moments later — 
promptly at eight o'clock — the lights were 
dimmed and the curtain rose. There was 
no overture. In fact, there is no orchestra 
pit in the Moscow Art Theatre. When 
music is needed it is played under the 
stage. 

"The Possessed" proved to be a suc- 
cession of detached scenes from Dosto- 
yef sky's novel of the same name rather 
than its dramatization. The Moscow Art 
Theatre is equipped with a double decked 
revolving stage which enables scene to 
follow scene with only the darkening of the 
auditorium for a few moments to punctuate 
the intervals. Unlike most revolving stages 
it moved noiselessly. 

The acting was magnificent. Although I 
did not understand a single word that was 
spoken I was able to follow the story of 
the play. What higher praise can be 
accorded actors! 

I expected an outburst of applause at 
the end of the act but when the curtain 
fell the greater part of the audience silently 
left their seats for the foyer — promenade. 
Applause is never accorded the artistes at 

94 



A FIRST NIGHT AT MOSCOW ART THEATRE 

the Moscow Art Theatre. Nor are curtain 
calls ever allowed. Realism and natural- 
ness above everything else are striven for. 

During the second act M. Stanislauski, 
one of the directors of the theatre, took me 
behind the scenes to see the double decked 
revolving stage in operation. There I met 
three Russian priests who were watching 
the performance. Priests in Russia are 
forbidden to attend theatrical performances 
but many of them visit the Moscow Art 
Theatre and witness the performances from 
the wings, safe from the public gaze. M. 
Stanislauski showed me through the dress- 
ing rooms which are so arranged that the 
male and female players do not meet until 
they reach the stage made up for their 
parts. They have separate green rooms 
and separate exits. In no theatre in the 
world is the comfort of the actor given so 
much attention. 

At the end of the second act I was 
presented to Madame Knipper, the widow 
of the famous Tchekoff, who was enacting 
the leading role in the new play. I also 
had the honor of shaking hands with Mile. 
Koreneff and M. Katchaloff , two other lead- 

95 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

ing players. A first night in most play- 
houses is a nerve-racking affair — neither 
players nor managers have time for idle 
conversation. But at the Moscow Art 
Theatre a first performance after three 
months of rehearsals runs as smoothly as 
clockwork. 

Never has the old adage, "Great oaks 
from little acorns grow," been better ex- 
emplified than by this unique theatre. 
Beginning as an amateur theatrical society, 
without funds or wealthy members, it has 
become in little more than a decade one of 
the foremost theatrical organizations in the 
world. Its home is the best equipped play- 
house in Europe. And its productions are 
the most perfect given on any stage. 

Although in Russia the Moscow Art 
Theatre is looked upon as the first theatre 
in the land it is almost unknown outside 
of the Czar's Empire, except in Germany. 
Its company has only appeared in the 
leading cities of Russia and a few of the 
larger German capitals. Moscow is so far 
off the beaten track of travel that few 
American writers on theatrical subjects 
visit it. And naturally, as Russian is under- 

96 



A FIRST NIGHT AT MOSCOW ART THEATRE 

stood by so few people interested in the 
drama, the Moscow Art Theatre must 
remain "a thing apart." But its influence 
is already so great that no one interested in 
theatrical affairs can afford to be ignorant 
of it, or to ignore it. 

The Moscow Art Theatre was the first 
playhouse in the world to have a double 
decked revolving stage. Prof. Max Rein- 
hardt adopted the idea for the Deutsches 
Theater in Berlin, and later the idea was 
copied by the designer of the New Theatre 
in New York (now the Century Opera 
House) . 

But it is in the conduct of the theatre and 
its productions that this playhouse is the 
most interesting. It is a co-operative 
organization owned by thirty-one actors 
and actresses, who appear on its stage. The 
entire organization consists of 360 men and 
women who devote their time exclusively 
to the artistic, financial and operating side 
of the playhouse. In addition to its two 
directors, who have practically equal respon- 
sibility, there is a governing board that 
passes on all important matters. After 
ten years' service an actor or actress be- 

97 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

comes a shareholder, and there is a pension 
system for superannuated players, as well 
as funds for cases of emergency. Every 
player is given ten weeks' vacation with 
pay — their services being contracted for 
by the year. Thus it will be seen that from 
the actor's standpoint the Moscow Art 
Theatre is about ideal. 

Only three new productions are made 
each year. However, a repertory of twelve 
is given, former successes being repeated 
as often as the receipts warrant. At least 
three months are devoted to the prepara- 
tion of each play. Consequently only 
finished productions are given. While the 
theatre is the home of the Russian drama, 
the dramas of other countries are not 
neglected. Shakespeare, Ibsen, and Haupt- 
mann are almost as much in evidence as 
Tolstoy, Gorky, Gogol and Tchekoff. 

It is very difficult to obtain a seat for a 
new production at this unique theatre. 
For the first ten performances of each new 
play every seat is subscribed for, which, of 
course, gives the theatre working capital. 
The expenses of the organization are about 
$350,000 a year, but as its receipts are al- 

98 



A FIRST NIGHT AT MOSCOW ART THEATRE 

ways over $400,000 it is very prosperous. 
However, it makes very little money in 
Moscow, where a full house means only 
$1,500. Its season in Petersburg, where 
it plays in the Imperial Mikhailovsky 
Theatre (the Royal French Theatre) means 
$4,000 a night, and in Kieff, Warsaw and 
Odessa it plays to enormous business. 

The third act was on before M. Stanis- 
lauski and I returned to the auditorium. 
Of course he was able to pass the closed 
doors and he sat with me until the final 
curtain fell. 

"Is it a success?" I asked as we emerged 
to the brilliantly lighted foyer. 

"I think so," he replied simply, "but we 
will know in the morning when we see what 
the critics have to say." 

Moscow is one of the few cities in the 
world that takes its dramatic critics 
seriously. 



VIENNA 




Between the Acts 
at the Theater 
an der Wien 



VIENNA 

4T THE hour when New Yorkers 
L \ are impatiently waiting to be served 
JL A. with the dinner they have or- 
dered the curtains of nearly a score 
of theatres in Vienna are ringing up 
for the evening performance. Half -past 
seven is the very latest for a play to begin 
in the Austrian capital — and for the opera 
seven o'clock is the usual time. Then 
Vienna goes on an empty stomach — or at 
least without having dined, for dinner is 
a midday repast for the Viennese. 

True to their musical traditions, nine 
times out of ten when they go to the theatre 
it is to an opera or an operetta. Con- 
sequently, of the fifteen first-class play- 
houses in the capital all but four are 
devoted to musical productions. 

The writer was no exception to the 
general rule and half-past seven found him 
in an orchestra seat at the famous theatre 

103 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

An der Wien — the theatre which saw the 
premieres of Beethoven and Mozart and 
which is now the home of Lehar. Nine 
kronen ($1.80) had bought a front row 
seat at the box office, for in Vienna ticket 
speculators do not exist. Even at the 
hotels an advance in price is only one 
krone (20 cents). The theatres are under 
government supervision and there is no 
sharp practice on the part of the managers » 

"Die Ideale Gattin" (The Ideal Wife) 
was the operetta — by Lehar, of course — 
and his most recent work. It was on 
familiar lines, waltz following waltz in 
rapid succession. The principal singers 
were better than Broadway hears as a rule; 
the orchestra was far superior, and the 
production itself was on a par with the 
best American musical offerings. In only 
one particular was it lacking — its chorus 
girls were the weirdest beauties I had ever 
seen. But they could sing. 

The audience, too, had a familiar ap- 
pearance, only a small proportion being 
in evening dress. At the end of the first 
act, however, the difference became ap- 
parent. Then half of the men in the front 

104 



VIENNA 

orchestra chairs stood up and faced the 
audience, sweeping the boxes and balconies 
with their opera glasses. The other half 
and those in the rear started for the lobby, 
where they crowded around a lunch counter 
and consumed caviar and ham and cheese 
sandwiches, washing them down with Pilse- 
ner beer. Ushers with trays of sandwiches 
and pastries had evidently been busy 
inside at the same time, for when I returned 
to my seat nearly every one was eating. 

At ten o'clock the various couples in the 
play were paired, and the falling of the 
curtain was the signal for the supper which 
had obsessed my mind far more than the 
plot of the operetta. I hailed a taxi on the 
street and whizzed off to the Rathaus 
Keller, great restaurant in the basement 
of the City Hall. 

Viennese society does not go to the 
Rathaus Keller after the theatre. The 
dining-rooms of the Hotel Bristol, of the 
Grand Hotel and Imperial are the "smart" 
places at that hour, and supper in their 
gilt and marble dining-rooms is exactly 
like that at a leading New York hotel. 
But supper at the Rathaus Keller is different 

105 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

from anywhere in the world. In the great 
vaulted rooms you see the real Viennese — 
not the wealthy cosmopolitan, but the well- 
to-do burgher, with his wife and daugh- 
ters, who knows where to get the best food 
and the best wine in Vienna. 

After the theatre at night the great room 
of the restaurant is filled to overflowing. 
The atmosphere is redolent with the aroma 
of Wiener Rostbraten and Wurstel with 
Gulasch sauce. Nothing but wine is served, 
but the wines are only two, three and four 
kronen (40, 60 and 80 cents) a bottle. A 
dish of Esterhazy Rostbraten washed down 
with a bottle of Gumpoldskirchner Kaiser- 
wein or a bottle of Kleinoschegg, an In- 
lander Schaumwein, is a memorable repast, 
especially if topped off with a Rathaus 
Sehaumtorte or a Milchrahmstrudel. And 
when you get your check an hour later you 
find you have spent only three or four 
kronen (60 or 80 cents). You tip the man 
who presents it and takes your money, you 
tip your waiter and you tip the boy who 
brought your wine. But the tip to the 
first man in only 20 heller (4 cents), the tip 
to the waiter only 10 heller (2 cents), and 

106 



VIENNA 

the tip to the boy only 6 heller (a little over 
a cent). Any deviation from this scale is 
resented. 

When Vienna has had supper — the hour 
is then eleven or after — the day is officially 
over for most of the population. There is 
no night life such as is found in Paris and 
Berlin. In fact, the old-fashioned custom 
of locking the doors at 10 P. M. still exists 
in this city, and those who are abroad after 
that hour have to pay 20 heller (4 cents) 
to the doorkeepers to gain admittance to 
their own houses. However, there are quite 
a number of people who do not want to go 
to bed so early and they seek one of the 
popular so-called bars or coffee houses. 

Being in this class I left the wonderful 
Rathaus Keller and taxied to the Trocadero 
in the Walfischgasse — the distance was 
nearly a mile, but the tariff was only 20 
cents, and Viennese chauffeurs accept a 
six or eight cent tip with a "danke bestens." 

At the Trocadero a roomful of well dressed 
men and women, a large sprinkling of 
Austrian officers among the former, were 
tangoing to a noisy orchestra. It was a 
typical Parisian night cafe of wine, women 

107 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

and wealthy or make-believe wealthy men. 
The Chapeau Rouge, the Tabarin and the 
Palais de Danse in the immediate vicinity 
are three more of the same French type. 
Viennese do not frequent them, as a general 
rule, and, for their regular patrons, they 
have to depend upon the underworld. 

Perhaps the smartest bar is the Carlton 
near the Operntheater. But gayety after 
the clock strikes twelve is hard to find. 
Maxime's and the other Parisian night 
cafes are too obviously Parisian to be re- 
garded as part of Viennese life. 

The real Vienna is the "Gemuethlich- 
keit" of the Rathaus Keller, where one 
sups to the strains of a Strauss or Lehar 
waltz or the music of the "Volksanger." 



103 



VIENNA'S HALL OF FAME 




Da Sitzt Er! 






1 



VIENNA'S HALL OF FAME 

"\HE city of Vienna is one of the 
musical centres of the world; the 
Cafe Museum, at the junction of 
the Friederichstrasse and the Operngasse, is 
Vienna's Hall of Fame, or, speaking more 
particularly, a certain corner of the cafe dis- 
charges this important function. 

To the casual visitor this corner betrays 
no characteristics which might distinguish 
it from any of the other three. It has the 
usual number of small tables; it has the 
usual number of placid men sitting at them, 
and these placid men are, as is usual, con- 
tentedly sipping coffee. Nothing in the at- 
mosphere indicates the presence of genius, 
and yet there it is. 

Above one of these tables — the central 
one — is a bust in marble, and beneath it in 
the flesh sits the original. He is Franz 
Lehar, the waltz king, and this is his throne 
room — the Lehar Corner of the Cafe Mu- 

111 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

seum, where, every afternoon at four o'clock, 
he gives audience to such as desire and 
deserve it. 

It was Wagner who said that his music 
was the music of the future. Franz Lehar 
might use all three tenses and say his was 
of the past, is of the present and will be of 
the future. "The Merry Widow" is dead; 
"The Count of Luxembourg" is living; 
"The Ideal Wife" is yet to come, at least so 
far as New York is concerned. And much 
more is still expected to follow. 

For its guidance in the discernment of 
genius the public has one motto, to which 
in general it adheres. "By your past per- 
formances," it says, "shall we know you." 
Quite true, a number of geniuses die before 
the public recognizes the fact that they can 
perform, but this is not possible in the case 
of a waltz king. 

When light amusement is in question, the 
public knows its own needs. And Franz 
Lehar composed "The Merry Widow." 
Therefore it is willing to contract on faith 
for all his operas for the next ten years. It 
has paid enough already in going to hear his 
works to make him a millionaire. So why 

112 



VIENNA S HALL OF FAME 

should not he sit contentedly sipping his 
cream-smothered coffee? No man ever got 
a fashionable home from a post-mortem 
reputation. 

On a certain afternoon, not many weeks 
ago, Franz Lehar was in his accustomed 
chair, surrounded by fellow musicians. Em- 
erich Kallman was there, of "Sari" fame, and 
Heinrich Reinhardt, the author of "The 
Spring Maid." Oscar Nebdal, whose "Po- 
lenblut" is one of the season's hits, was also 
in the group, and Oscar Strauss, whose 
"Chocolate Soldier" is not yet forgotten. 

Being a reader of illustrated magazines, 
I had already picked out the object of my 
search, unaided by waiters or the bust on 
the wall. I had come to see Franz Lehar, 
and had easily recognized him in a pleasant- 
faced, rather American-looking man. Being 
really famous, he has no need to demon- 
strate the fact, so he dresses quite simply, 
shakes hands with you quite agreeably and 
has not the slightest objection to being 
asked questions. He is a Hungarian, but 
speaks German fluently. 

There, however, his powers as a linguist 
end, and, unfortunately, about there also 

113 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

mine begin. Robert Bodansky and Leo 
Stein, both of whom have written numerous 
librettos for the light operas of Vienna, and 
therefore of the world, came, on several oc- 
casions, to the rescue. 

Hardly had the kellner placed a glass of 
Vienna coffee before me than I went to the 
business in hand. 

"First and foremost," I asked, "why have 
you never come to America ?" 

"Because I have never had the right 
operetta," was the direct answer. "When I 
have the right piece I shall come to New 
York and conduct at its premiere." 

"Then it isn't true that you are afraid of 
the ocean?" 

"No, no," Lehar laughed. "Why, I used 
to be director of a marine band. Seriously, 
when I am satisfied that I have the right 
piece I'll come over. Perhaps it will be with 
'Endlich Allein.' I really want to visit 
America. I want to hear some of Herbert's 
compositions. Yes, I'm surely coming." 

' 'Endlich Allein " explained Kallman, 
"is Lehar's newest operetta which is to be 
produced in Vienna next season." 



114 



Vienna's hall of fame 



"Why were you not satisfied with 'Gypsy 
Love?' " I asked. "We expected you to 
come to America for its premiere." 

" 'Gypsy Love?' " he repeated. "It was 
far, very far from the right piece. I want a 
good book first of all. That's the hardest 
thing to find. There are plenty of men who 
can write good music, but a good libretto 
is very, very rare. Yes, the success of an 
operetta, especially of the first performance, 
depends upon the story." 

"But its cornerstone is a waltz," I inter- 
rupted. 

"Of course, for a Viennese operetta," 
answered Herr Lehar, "but not for the 
American musical pieces which you wrong- 
fully term opera comique. Every one says 
American musical plays are better staged 
than ours, so it must be true. Still I believe 
our operettas are better sung. I will find 
out for myself when I visit America. 

"You must remember," he went on, 
"that you have touring companies. Your 
managers can invest twenty-five or thirty 
thousand dollars in producing a play with 
some hope of getting it back. Here in 
Vienna when an operetta has had its run of 

115 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

fifty, one hundred or even two hundred 
nights that is all there is to it. Each theatre 
has its own permanent company and there 
is no road tour. Consequently productions 
cannot be as lavish as in America." 

"But your dreadful chorus girls?" I was 
still haunted by unpleasant memories. 

"Viennese operettas are not written to 
exploit the chorus," said Herr Lehar solemn- 
ly. "Nor do producers here take liberties 
with an author's book or a composer's 
score." His tone was now severe. "I un- 
derstand that some of the Viennese oper- 
ettas that have been produced in New York 
were so changed that they were hardly 
recognizable. One of mine was terribly 
mutilated, so I am told. A New York pro- 
ducer would not think of changing one of 
Gilbert and Sullivan's pieces. Yet they 
change our operettas. Ours are just as 
sacred as Gilbert and Sullivan's — at least 
they should be so considered." 

"Yes," agreed Emerich Kallman, "there 
were just two of my numbers left in one of 
my operettas which was produced in New 
York last season." 

116 



Vienna's hall of fame 



" 'The Man with Three Wives' and 'Eva' 
were failures in New York for the same 
reason," went on Lehar. " 'The Merry 
Widow' and 'The Count of Luxembourg' 
were produced there exactly as they were 
done here — and you know with what re- 
sults. 

"Really I would like to come to New York 
with a repertoire company and give all my 
operettas." He was becoming enthusiastic. 
"I would like to have America see how we 
present operettas in Vienna. But, of course, 
that's impossible." He came down to earth 
suddenly. 

"Do you think there will be any change in 
the type of operetta in the future?" I asked. 

"No, so long as the world is as it is light 
operas will be popular," he replied. 

"Why is it," he suddenly changed the 
conversation, "that your American compo- 
sers do not try to get a hearing in Vienna? 
Of course I know it would not mean so much 
from a money standpoint, but surely a com- 
poser like Victor Herbert ought to have a 
hearing here. We have had only one 
American musical piece — 'The Belle of New 
York' — and that was a big success. But, 

117 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

aside from the money standpoint, I should 
think a great composer like Herbert would 
like the stamp of approval from Vienna. 
Perhaps he, too, has not found the right 
work; it is hard to be satisfied with one's 
compositions." 

"And harder to be satisfied with a libret- 
to?" 

"That's the whole thing in a nutshell, 
as you say in America. Yes, I believe the 
prayer of every composer is: 'Lord, have 
mercy upon me and send me a good li- 
bretto.' " 

The chimes of the nearby cathedral 
reminded me of the hour. I knew that Herr 
Lehar was expecting to conduct the fiftieth 
performance of "Die Ideate Gattin" that 
evening, and I also knew that theatrical 
performances in Vienna begin at the time 
when most New Yorkers sit down to dinner, 
so I bade goodby to the Lehar Corner and 
its friendly crowd. 

An hour later I entered the Theatre an der 
Wien. The famous composer was conduct- 
ing his operetta, and as the usher handed 
me a programme he pointed to the leader 
of the orchestra and said: 

118 



Vienna's hall of fame 

"That is the celebrated Franz Lehar." 
Vienna, at least, does not leave its debts 
for posterity to pay. 




The Idol 
of Vienna 



110 



ATHENS 




Even the 
Acropolis is 
Closed at Night 



ATHENS 

WHEN you land on the steel pier 
at Phaleron Bay, it is hard to 
realize that you are not at 
Brighton Beach instead of in ancient 
Greece. Before you are immense bath 
houses, rows of modern buildings, which 
are unmistakably hotels, and, towering- 
above all, a scenic railway and shoot-the- 
chutes. 

Phaleron is the Brighton Beach of Athens, 
and it is quite as American in appearance 
as its namesake. Its Luna Park is a very 
creditable imitation of Brighton Beach 
Park. There is only one thing that brings 
the realization of being far from Broadway. 
On every side are soldiers — dark men in 
brown uniforms with red crosses on the 
white bandages on their sleeves. For the 
hotels at Phaleron have been turned into 
military hospitals for convalescents who 

123 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

spend a large share of their time in the 
bright sunshine on the beach. 

But you feel at home among these soldiers. 
They speak English — the way you speak it. 
Most of them have lived in America and 
not a few have waited on you in New York 
restaurants. 

One of them recognized me as a New 
Yorker who had frequently dined at an 
uptown restaurant where he was employed. 
He hastened to me and volunteered his 
services as a guide around Phaleron. He 
was recovering from a wound received in 
an encounter with a Turkish cruiser while 
on a Greek gunboat in the Dardanelles. 
In New York he was plain George, but he 
told me proudly that he was Lieut. Calo- 
geropoulo on sick leave and chafing to 
rejoin his ship to fight the Turks. 

As I had no time for sightseeing, my 
guide escorted me to the station where I 
took the train for Athens. A more modern 
station could not be imagined — the tracks 
are depressed and every fifteen minutes 
an electric train comes to a stop before it. 
Again you feel that you are in New York. 
The cars are about identical with those in 

124 



ATHENS 

our subway and they whiz you to Omonia 
station in Athens in ten minutes. The 
men and women in the cars — who are mak- 
ing the trip from Piraeus, the seaport of 
Athens — look more like the people you see 
in New York than the people in any other 
section of Europe. Again, the only thing 
that makes you realize that you are in 
Greece is the Greek letterings on the houses 
and fence boards that you pass. Address 
the man on your right or left and you find 
that he speaks English. He may speak 
it imperfectly, but he understands you and 
he answers you politely. 

Your first impression of Athens is that 
you have left the subway somewhere out 
in the Bronx. There is a newsboy at the 
top of the station steps with the afternoon 
papers. There are several taxicabs and 
automobiles lined up along the curb. The 
automobiles, especially, have an American 
appearance. If it were not for the scores 
of soldiers and the Greek names on the 
stores you would declare you were near 
177th street and Third avenue. The girls 
who pass while you are entering your taxi 
look as if they belonged in New York. 

[ix] 125 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

True, their skins are olive and their eyes 
black, but their "style" is unmistakably 
of Broadway. 

A ride of five minutes in a taxi brings you 
to the Hotel de la Grand Bretagne, which 
shares with the Hotel d'Angleterre the 
honor of being the best hostelry in Athens. 
It is a typical French hotel of the better 
class and being located in the Place de la 
Constitution is the centre of Athens' 
gayety. Its charges are reckoned in francs 
instead of drachmas, and in its dining 
rooms you might be in Marseilles, so far as 
local color is concerned. However, your 
taxi ride has only cost you one drachma 
(twenty cents) and across the square at 
the corner of the Rue du Stade is the Cafe 
Zacharatos, a typical Greek cafe of the 
better class. 

It was about half-past five in the after- 
noon when I entered the Cafe Zacharatos. 
It was crowded with well-dressed men and 
officers in more or less resplendent uniforms. 
At one table were a group of officers of the 
Evzon regiment in purple uniforms with 
ballet skirt effects, made even more pictu- 

126 



ATHENS 

resque because of the white encased legs 
and slippers with rosettes on the toes. 

If you expect to see the national costume 
of Greece in Athens you will be disap- 
pointed. Only one regiment in the entire 
army wears the f oustanella, as the accordion 
pleated skirt effect is called. In fact, the 
skirted Greek is almost as rare in Athens as 
he is in New York. 

As I did not order a drink immediately 
the waiter at my table brought me a New 
York newspaper. I noticed that most of 
the men — there were no women — were read- 
ing and drinking coffee. Mixed drinks are 
unknown or at least never called for in 
the capital of Greece. Coffee is the drink. 
Next in popularity is native wine which 
is almost always drunk with soda water. 
Then there is 'evto'ttiov (native beer), 
which is sold everywhere but seldom or- 
dered except in the cheaper cafes. 

I ordered a cup of coffee. When my 
waiter returned with it he placed a plate 
of pastry on my table. 

"I thought you might like to try some 
Greek pastry," he said. 

Coffee — excellent Turkish coffee, by the 

127 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

way — and the sticky pastry at the Cafe 
Zacharatos is one drachma (twenty cents 
American money). When I tipped my 
waiter an additional drachma he confided 
that he had worked at the Hotel Athens, 
opposite the Grand Central station, New 
York. 

A captain in the Greek army hearing me 
speak English with the waiter introduced 
himself and asked if he could be of serv- 
ice. I explained that I wanted as gay an 
evening as Athens could afford. 

"Dine at the Restaurant de la Cite, 
since you don't care about the hotels, hear 
the opera at the Theatre de la Ville and see 
the Acropolis by moonlight." 

His advice was well intentioned. The 
dinner at the Restaurant de la Cite was 
good. Except for a plate of delicious ripe 
olives with shiny, black skins, honey from 
Mount Hymettus, sticky pastry and juicy 
watermelons and grapes, the dinner was 
much the same as at a first-class table 
d'hote in New York. 

Theatres in Athens begin promptly at 
eight o'clock. I hurried to the Rue d'Athene, 
to the Theatre de la Ville, or Municipal 

128 






ATHENS 

Theatre as we would call it. The bill was 
"Eva," a Franz Lehar operetta in French. 
I had heard it at the New Amsterdam 
Theatre in New York and also in Lisbon, 
but I had no choice. 

Evidently Athenians understood French 
as well as English. The theatre was full — 
officers and soldiers predominating. And 
when the alleged comedian in the play 
referred to King Constantine, I thought 
the audience would wreck the theatre. If 
a Turkish army had heard them it would 
have fled back to Adrianople. 

When the performance was over and I 
walked down the Rue d'Eole and up the 
Rue d'Hermes to the Royal Palace, I 
realized why my captain friend had ad- 
vised me to visit the Acropolis by moon- 
light. There was no place else to go ! 

So I walked along the Palace Gardens, 
past the Arch of Hadrian and the Temple of 
Jupiter Olympus to the foot of the Acrop- 
olis, which I started to climb. However, I 
did not get far. A gendarme stepped out 
of a sentry box and asked me for a permit. 
As I had neglected to apply for permission 
to visit the Acropolis after sundown the 

129 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

pleasure of seeing Athens by moonlight 
was denied me. There was nothing to do 
but return to my hotel. 

For the "night life" of Athens this much 
can be said: There isn't any. 



130 



ROME 



ROME 

NIGHT LIFE in Rome is of two 
varieties. For the visitor it con- 
sists in figuring up how much he 
is "out" from being robbed, cheated and 
short-changed during the day. For the 
native it consists in figuring up how much 
he is "in" from robbing, cheating and 
short-changing visitors during the diurnal 
period. 

There is no capital in Europe in which a 
visitor is robbed, cheated and short-changed 
as brazenly and repeatedly as he is in the 
capital of Italy. 

Nearly everyone who visits Rome for the 
first time is disappointed. But if seeing 
Rome by day is disappointing seeing the 
capital by night is even more so. 

In population Rome is about the size of 
Cleveland or Baltimore. Its gayety is akin 
to that of Syracuse or Utica. But what it 
lacks in gayety it makes up with its choice 

133 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

collection of smells. For Rome is not only 
the stupidest capital in Europe, but the 
dirtiest. 

To be sure the most beautiful monument 
in the world — the Victor Emmanuel Me- 
morial which cost nearly thirty million 
dollars, is located in this ancient city. But 
the monument is fringed with scores of 
maimed and crippled beggars and wherever 
you go are more beggars until you come to 
the conclusion that there are only three kinds 
of Romans — beggars, thieves and priests. 

With these enthusiastic words of praise 
for the Eternal City I will pass to my ex- 
periences in search of the gay life at night 
along the Tiber. 

After a very late luncheon at the Ris- 
torante dei Castello de Cesari overlooking the 
Appian Way — at which I was short- 
changed 5 lire by the waiter in addition to 
being overcharged 3 lire by the proprietor — 
I drove to the Teatro Nazionale to witness 
a performance of "La Bella di New York." 
I arrived there a little before five, the hour 
at which matinees begin in the ancient 
capital. I will pass over the short change 
work of the driver of my broken down 

134 



ROME 

vehicle and the similar work of the box office 
man. Suffice it to say that they were artists 
and that I was safely in my seat when the 
orchestra struck up the opening bars of 
Gustav Kerker's overture. 

The Teatro Nazionale, despite its name, is 
not the national theatre. It is simply a big 
barn of a place devoted to operetta and 
what we term musical comedy. But I 
doubt if Mr. Kerker would have recognized 
as his brain child the entertainment which 
was given under the title "La Bella di New 
York" If the director had attempted to 
play the piece backwards he could not have 
given a more utterly absurd performance. 
The Italian who adapted the piece, which 
was none other than "The Belle of New 
York," conceived the brilliant idea of com- 
bining the roles of the Queen of Comic 
Opera and the Salvation Army Lassie, the 
two leading feminine roles in the piece. 
The director entrusted this new role to a 
barrel chested ruin of two hundred odd 
pounds. This individual sang the famous 
"Follow On" song in a red Salvation Army 
hat and tights. The chorus men wore 
velvet knickerbockers in the New York 

135 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

street scenes and the chorus girls appeared 
in sombreros. To cap the climax the actor 
who played the role of "Blinky Bill," the 
East side tough, appeared in a Buffalo Bill 
makeup and fired a revolver every few 
minutes in an effort to complete his charac- 
terization. 

It is almost impossible to describe how 
badly — how terribly — the company at the 
Teatro Nazionale mutilated this famous 
musical comedy. And yet the Teatro 
Nazionale is the leading theatre in Rome 
devoted to plays with music. 

At night its prices are 10 lire ($2.00) for 
the best seats, which is the standard price 
on Broadway. But a "ten, twent' and 
thirt' " stock company could not give as 
poor a performance anywhere in America 
without risking the lives of its performers. 

It was nearly eight o'clock when the final 
curtain fell on "La Bella di New York/' and 
as soon as I reached the street I hailed a 
cab to take me to the Quirinal Hotel, where 
I was stopping. I did not dine at the 
Quirinal for I had been told that the Grand 
Hotel was the rendezvous for the smart set 

136 



ROME 

at dinner and as soon as I had donned my 
evening clothes I hurried there. 

There is no doubt that many of the 
smartest functions in Rome are given at the 
Grand, but as a hotel it is about twenty 
years behind any of the leading hotels in 
New York. The music was very good — 
infinitely better than the typical continen- 
tal dinner which was provided. Although 
the big dining room was crowded there were 
few beautiful women in evidence and practi- 
cally no display of jewels and elaborate 
gowns. Rome is rich only in treasures of 
the past. The Romans of today are simply 
janitors of the ruins left by their illustrious 
ancestors. 

As it was the first night of "Iris," Mas- 
cagni's new opera, at the Teatro Costanzi, I 
left my dinner before the coffee was served 
in order to be in my seat at the beginning of 
the opera. However, I found that I was 
nearly half an hour late. Opera usually 
begins at 21 o'clock (9 P. M. according to 
our reckoning), but owing to the unusual 
length of "Iris" it had begun at 20.30. 

The Teatro Costanzi is not the leading 
opera house in Italy. La Scala in Milan 

137 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

is the only home of opera in Italy worthy of 
the name. Performances at the Costanzi 
in Rome and at the San Carlos in Naples are 
on a par with what we term popular priced 
opera in America. Even at Milan there are 
only two or three singers who would be 
tolerated in leading roles at the Metropoli- 
tan. Opera enthusiasts may rave about 
Italy, but the fact remains that New York 
is the real home of Italian Opera. And it 
might be added that there are more Italians 
in little old New York than there are in 
Rome and all its suburbs. 

Despite the fact that it was a premiere 
more than half of the audience at the Cos- 
tanzi were in business suits and shirt waists. 
To be sure the boxes were filled with smartly 
dressed people and there was a generous 
sprinkling of uniforms, but the audience as 
a whole lacked distinction. Compared with 
an audience at the Marinsky Theatre in 
Petersburg or an audience at our own 
Metropolitan, it was a sorry spectacle. 

The performance was in keeping with the 
audience. The orchestra under the direc- 
tion of Edoardo Vitale was all that could be 
desired, but the opera was long and tedious, 

138 



ROME 

and the singers without exception lacked 
distinction. It was evident long before the 
end of the second act that "Iris" was a 
failure. In fact, a considerable proportion 
of the audience left their seats and sought 
the cool air outside. I did not remain for 
the third act, but I read the following morn- 
ing that the performance lasted until half 
past one. 

There is no public dancing in any of the 
cafes or restaurants in Rome. Cabarets 
are still unknown although there are two or 
three little music halls where the perform- 
ances are somewhat similar to what is seen 
in our cheap vaudeville theatres in New 
York. The Corso — which is the Broadway 
of Rome — is ablaze with lights and fairly 
crowded at midnight, but the gay life for 
the male portion of the population seems to 
consist solely of blocking the sidewalk and 
twirling absurb little mustachios. 

I dropped into the Cafe Nazionale on the 
Corso for a drink to discover if there was 
anything doing. The cafe was filled with 
men, most of whom were gesticulating 
wildly over their beer or coffee. The Cafe 
Faraglia, which I visited after a stroll 

139 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

around the Piazza Venezia, proved equally 
dull and uninteresting. For an after theatre 
supper it is necessary to go to the Grand or 
the Quirinal. But when one remembers 
that there is only one prince in Rome who 
does not rent apartments in his "palazzo" 
to anyone who will take them, this is not 
surprising. There is little manufacturing 
in Rome and as it is inland, it boasts of very 
little commerce. Its "high life" is practical- 
ly confined to the social entertainments 
which are given at the hotels or the private 
homes of the aristocracy. Gilded cafes, 
night clubs, or attractive rendezvous for the 
demi-monde are unknown in Rome. Vice 
there is of the most sordid variety. 

Of course there are some good things 
about Rome. But I know the good as well 
as the evil — and sympathize with both. 



140 



CONSTANTINOPLE 







Rush Hour Traffic 
on the Galata Bridge 
Over the Golden Horn 



CONSTANTINOPLE 



IF YOU expect to find the flavor of the 
"Arabian Nights" in this story you 
will be disappointed. Constantinople 
in the year of 1914, A. D., is more like 
Bagdad on the subway (to use one of 
O. Henry's favorite expressions) than the 
ancient city of Haroun-al-Raschid. It is 
a Turkish trophy of foreigners. 

New York has been called the City of 
Ten Thousand Grafts. Constantinople 
should be called the City of Ten Million. 
A Broadwayite who is in the habit of 
being brushed from all his loose change, 
cheated by taximeters, overcharged by 
restaurant proprietors, robbed by the ticket 
speculators and treated with insolence by 
waiters feels perfectly at home in this 
wonderful capital. It gives him an idea 
what New York will be like in another ten 
years. For Constantinople is less Turkish 
than New York is American. It is not the 

143 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

Turk who overcharges, cheats and robs 
you. The five francs you pay to enter the 
city goes to a French company which has 
the concession (and you have to pay the 
same amount to leave). The motor buses 
and cabs are also French owned. The 
electric street cars, which have only been 
running a few months, are a Belgian con- 
cession. The electric light and telephone 
companies are German. The best hotels are 
English and the restaurants are Greek. 

Constantinople has a subway, too. It 
is less than two miles long, but the fare is 
the same as it is in New York. All of which 
shatters the fond delusions of many good 
people that the capital of Turkey is behind 
the times. 

Constantinople is progressive. Its street 
cars run faster and kill more people per mile 
than the street cars of any city in the world. 
There are no speed regulations for auto- 
mobiles — you can drive on the wrong side 
of the street at fifty miles an hour — nearly 
everybody does. The big motor omnibuses 
run at top speed with their mufflers open 
despite the fact that the streets are more 
crowded than the entrance to Brooklyn 

144 



CONSTANTINOPLE 

Bridge at six o'clock. And as for noise — 
Sixth avenue and Thirty -fourth street is as 
quiet as the Polo Grounds in winter com- 
pared with the Rue de la Pera in rush 
hours. 

Changes have come rapidly in the capital 
of Turkey in the last few months. Its dogs 
have all been killed. It is no longer a 
city of mosques, minarets and the Faithful. 
The mosques and minarets are still on view, 
but the Faithful are drinking mastic and 
eating ham. I visited half a dozen mosques 
on a Friday (the Mohammedan Sunday) 
only to find them deserted except for the 
priests. It reminded me of many of our 
churches at home. Drinking is the king of 
indoor sports. Cafes are as numerous as 
saloons on Tenth avenue, and it is as 
hard to get a cup of coffee as it is to get 
a glass of water in a German restaurant. 
Mastic, a colorless spirit like vodka, is the 
drink. Next in popularity is beer — native 
brewed. A Turk with a cup of coffee and 
a water pipe or nargileh exists only in the 
imagination of artists — at least in Con- 
stantinople. 

Only in the Turkish women is the Con- 

145 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

stantinople of former days preserved. They 
do wear veils. However, they do not wear 
harem skirts. They dress in black like 
American women in mourning, and the 
men who accompany them are dressed 
exactly like New Yorkers, except for the 
fez. In fact, except for the fez, which one 
sees on every side, the Rue de la Pera, 
principal street in Constantinople, is very 
much like Broadway between Twenty-third 
and Forty-second streets. 

After a day of sightseeing in the museums 
and mosques I returned to the Pera Palace 
Hotel about six o'clock to prepare for an 
evening in Constantinople. The streets 
were crowded, but Ahmed, my driver, 
whirled me through them faster than I had 
ever ridden with a New York Fire Commis- 
sioner. At the hotel my dragoman, a Greek 
named Aristocles with a long last name 
ending in poulos, advised against changing 
to evening dress. 

"Put on a fez and come with me," he 
said. Of course a fez is not necessary to 
see Constantinople at night, but it is a 
protection. Only the Pera section of the 
city is well lighted. Stamboul, across the 

146 



CONSTANTINOPLE 

Golden Horn, has to depend upon the 
lights reflected from its shops and restau- 
rants and Scutari, the Jersey City of 
Constantinople, is plunged in inky black- 
ness. With a fez you look like a native 
and you are not molested. 

When we emerged into the Rue de la 
Pera we could hardly make our way 
along the crowded sidewalks. The shops 
ablaze with lights, the electric cars clang- 
ing their bells and the big limousines and 
fashionable turnouts speeding past made 
me forget that I was nearly 5,000 miles 
from little old Broadway. The Tokatlian, 
the best Turkish restaurant in the city, 
was our destination. It proved to be a 
big, high-ceilinged room directly on the 
Rue de la Pera filled with at least two 
hundred fez-covered men and perhaps half 
that number of well dressed women. The 
hat room privilege is worth very little in 
Turkey. The men keep on their hats, 
but the wash rooms are presided over by 
fierce looking Kurds, who demand a satis- 
factory tip. 

We found a vacant table and Aristocles 
gave the order to the American head waiter. 

147 




A Turkish 
Dinner 



CONSTANTINOPLE 

Mastic instead of cocktails, green olives 
and mussels instead of hors-d'oeuvres, 
espadons en brochette, delicious fresh fish 
from the Bosphorus cooked in the shape 
of cubes on a little stick, pilaff, rice cooked 
with small pieces of lamb, followed by 
kabob, roast meat with a thick, brown 
gravy, was our meal. 

For dessert we had ekmek cadaif, a 
glorified bread pudding covered with thick 
whipped cream. It is one of the most de- 
licious desserts I have ever tasted. Indeed, 
the entire meal was excellently cooked and 
well served. 

There is no music at the Tokatlian nor 
in any other restaurant in Constantinople. 
Some of the cafes have installed phono- 
graphs, but the people seem to prefer to 
talk or read while they are dining. 

During our meal at the Tokatlian we 
were interrupted half a dozen times by 
huge blacks in gorgeous uniforms, who 
distribute handbills of the various per- 
formances at the 1' eat res. Every handbill 
in Constantinople bears a Government 
stamp. 

Few cities have such a diversity of 

149 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

theatrical entertainments, Italian opera 
at one theatre, French farce at another, 
Greek comedy at still another and half a 
dozen vaudeville theatres with perform- 
ances in as many tongues. But there is no 
performance in Turkish. Poor Turkey 
has neither music nor drama. Moving 
pictures are the one delight of the young 
Turks. There are scores of cinema theatres, 
as they are called, and they do a rushing 
business. 

We decided to attend the Theatre des 
Varietes in preference to the Italian opera. 
But as the performance was not scheduled 
to begin until quarter-past nine, we had time 
to drink two cups of excellent Turkish 
coffee and smoke several very good cigar- 
ettes. The check was 65 piasters, or $2.60, 
but that was because I had a good drago- 
man. There are no prices on the bill of 
fare, and a foreigner is usually charged "as 
much as the traffic will bear." 

Nine o'clock found us in a box at the 
Theatre des Varietes, for which I paid 
the equivalent of $2.70 a seat to a Greek 
speculator. No seats could be obtained at 
the box office, although it developed that 

150 




In a 

Turkish 

Cafe 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

the theatre was far from sold out. The 
theatre itself was not very different from a 
New York playhouse, and the play was 
"La President," which was played at the 
Garrick Theatre in New York under the 
title of "Madame President." 

It was half -past eleven when the final cur- 
tain fell and the Rue de la Pera was almost 
deserted. Most of the lights were out, and 
except for the street cars and carriages 
at the entrance there was nothing stirring. 
Big iron shutters covered the shop windows. 
Everybody seemed to be anxious to reach 
their homes as quickly as possible, including 
my dragoman. 

Nothing would induce him to take me 
around the dark, deserted streets. He 
declared it was courting trouble with the 
hordes of Turkish soldiers to cross the 
Galata Bridge to Stamboul. So we called 
it a "night." 



152 



DAMASCUS 




The Broadwayite 
Entering Damascus 






DAMASCUS 

I RODE into Damascus on a camel. I 
could have ridden into the city behind 
a fine pair of Arabian horses, for there 
were a dozen smart turnouts at the sta- 
tion, but I preferred the camel, a sort of 
Bronx Local. 

My dragoman mounted a dromedary, 
which might be compared to a Broadway 
Express, with the result that he reached the 
Victoria Hotel fully five minutes before I 
did. A dromedary makes no stops after 
he gets started. My camel stopped to look 
in every other bazaar, probably mistaking 
them for subway stations. 

Sentimentalists who lament that cities 
are growing everywhere the same, that the 
Orient is not so fascinatingly different from 
Broadway as it was in the days of Omar, 
should visit Damascus. 

A Damascus street in November of the 
year 1913 was still such a medley of Arabs, 

155 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

Syrians, Persians, Turks, Bedouins and 
Blacks, that an Oriental village at Coney 
Island seems in comparison a mere amateur 
performance. 

A citizen of Damascus without dirt on 
his face, candle dripping on his faded robe 
or baggy trousers and the accumulated dust 
of months on his shuffling slippers is only 
a masquerader. 

Picture to yourself a city with streets so 
narrow that the bay windows of the over- 
hanging houses fairly touch each other and 
shut out the sky above the narrow roadway 
below. Picture these streets as badly paved 
as a Tammany-laid roadway after five years 
of wear, and as dirty as Hoboken alleys, 
and you have a fair idea of the thorough- 
fares of Damascus, "the Pearl City of the 
East." 

Picture these streets so teeming with 
people that they touch as they pass; pic- 
ture countless dogs running here and 
there about them, and you have some idea 
of the compactness of the place. 

Every thoroughfare is as crowded as 
Nassau street during the noon hour. For 
you could place the entire city of Damascus 

156 



DAMASCUS 

with its 250,000 people in Central Park. 

It was through such streets that my camel 
threaded his way, one moment brushing 
by a Turkish officer in uniform laden with 
gold lace, the next stepping on a ragged, 
crouching beggar. One moment I was 
passed by gorgeous carriages in which were 
turbaned Arabs, the next I swung by vile 
smelling water vendors, veiled women and 
sore-eyed children. 

Broadway with all its wonders could not 
have interested a yap from Boob City more 
than this flow of humanity interested me. 
It was like a page out of the "Arabian 
Nights." 

The tariff for the ride was only one 
piaster — four cents. But New York taxi- 
cab rates are unknown in the oldest city 
in the world. The trip from the railroad 
station — a mile outside the city — is only 
three piasters (twelve cents) , behind a team 
of full-blooded Arab stallions. In fact, an 
ordinary taxi fare in New York would buy 
a quarter interest in any of the conveyances 
licensed by the Damascus authorities. 

The Victoria Hotel, which is located near 
the barracks in the heart of the city, is 

[xi] 157 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

the most up-to-date building in this part 
of the world. Yet it is without elevators, 
running water or any of the modern con- 
veniences which a New Yorker demands. 
However, I felt somewhat at home when 
three Arab bellhops began fighting for the 
privilege of carrying my baggage to my 
room. 

As it was only four o'clock in the after- 
noon, I asked my dragoman to show me 
the sights before dinner. 

"Come, we will see the lepers," he said 
simply. 

Another ride through the crowded streets 
to a collection of half ruined huts on the 
other side of the town brought us to the 
leper colony. It is the principal sight of 
Damascus. Just as a New Yorker takes a 
stranger to the Aquarium or the Metro- 
politan Museum, a native of Damascus 
takes his friend to see the lepers. From the 
crowd around the poor unfortunates, it is 
evidently a popular amusement. 

There is no "cocktail route" in the Pearl 
City of the East. The "bloods" of the city, 
the more prosperous Syrian merchants, 
Turkish officers and Arab Sheiks select 

158 



DAMASCUS 

uncomfortable chairs in the cafes along 
"the street called Straight" (which is 
straight only as compared with a corkscrew) , 
and sip arak or coffee until dinner time. 
Damascus arak is practically the same as 
Turkish mastic and it is the universal drink 
— except for True Believers. The latter 
indulge in sherbet, which is like lemonade. 
One piaster (four cents) buys coffee or 
arak in any cafe. And with it is served 
water and sometimes pistachio nuts. The 
evening newspapers (all published in Ara- 
bic) make their appearance about half- 
past four and from then until darkness 
falls every one in the cafes is busy reading. 

When I sat down to dinner in the main 
dining-room of the Victoria Hotel at seven 
o'clock the city was in darkness except for 
the lights in front of the barracks. Street 
lights are unknown. But every one seems 
perfectly able to traverse the narrow thor- 
oughfares without difficulty. And it must 
be admitted that the dirt and squalor is 
more picturesque at night. 

Dinner in a Damascus hotel is typically 
Syrian. Thick gumbo soup is followed by 
the inevitable pilaff (rice cooked with 

159 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

chopped meat), which in turn is followed 
by green squash, stuffed with rice and 
okra. Egg plant cooked with rice comes 
next. In fact, rice is found in every dish. 
Without it a meal in Syria would consist 
of coffee and a toothpick. 

Pastry spread with dried mashed grapes 
and a small coffee completed my dinner, 
with toothpicks as a separate course. I 
explained that I came from New York and 
not Pittsburgh, but my Arab waiter didn't 
see the point. 

It was not until after dinner that the 
cabaret began and it was given outside of 
the dining-room — as all cabarets should be 
given. In fact it took place in the street 
in front of the hotel. The first "turn" was 
a snake charmer, who rivalled Bosco of 
"eat 'em alive" fame. Then came a magi- 
cian who could make his fortune in America 
in two years. He could make chickens and 
rabbits come out of his ears, cups of hot 
coffee appear and disappear at will and little 
trees grow two feet high in the twinkling of 
an eye. He was followed by a juggler and 
an acrobat. Altogether it was one of the 
best cabarets I ever witnessed. And it 

160 



DAMASCUS 

was given entirely in the narrow street for 
the benefit of the hotel guests. From the 
amount of baksheesh that was thrown to 
the "artists'' by my fellow diners, who were 
principally Turkish officers and Syrian 
merchants, it was evident that the per- 
formance was a hit. 

Damascus boasts of three theatres — - 
all cinemas, as the "movies" are called in 
the Orient. I chose the Palace Theatre, 
near the hotel, because on its billboards 
it announced a troupe of dancers in addi- 
tion to its photo plays. Twenty piasters 
(80 cents) bought a box, which was located 
in the balcony overlooking one of the 
strangest audiences in the world. The 
entire lower floor was filled with turbaned 
Arabs and befezed Syrians smoking "hobble 
bobbles," as the Turkish water pipes are 
called in Syria. When you take your seat 
in a Damascus theatre, you are asked by 
the usher if you want a "hobble bobble," 
and if so one is provided for a trifling tip. 

Nearly five hundred men were puffing 
away downstairs, while thirty or forty 
smart looking Turkish officers were in the 
tier of boxes when I took my place. The 

161 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

pictures — mostly French made films — were 
shown without musical accompaniment, and 
when the lights were turned on after forty 
minutes of darkness a third of the audience 
was asleep. 

Under the guidance of my dragoman I 
visited two cafes chantants, where the few 
unattached European women in Damascus 
make their headquarters, and where the 
"night life" of the officers and higher 
officials centers. One of the cafes — known 
as the American bar — proved quite gay. 
Its guests were being entertained by a 
phonograph, and I was informed that there 
would be muscle dancing as soon as the 
performers could leave the Palace Theatre. 

That sent me back to the Victoria Hotel 
in a hurry, where I found real "night life" 
under my mosquito bar. But that, as 
Kipling says, is another story. 



162 



CAIRO 




The Veranda 
at Shepheard's 



CAIRO 

YOU can tell how long a visitor has 
been in Cairo from his position on 
the terrace at Shepheard's Hotel. 
If he is sitting near the railing over- 
looking the Esbikieyh, as the street in front 
of the great hostelry is called, he has just 
arrived. If he is sitting half way back 
enjoying a cigarette, he has been in Cairo 
three days. But if he is lounging close to 
the hotel entrance you are pretty sure he 
has been in the Egyptian capital at least a 
week. 

Shepheard's is the Waldorf of Cairo. 
There are smarter hotels in Cairo than 
Shepheard's — just as there are smarter 
hotels than the Waldorf in New York. But 
more happens at Shepheard's in a day than 
at the Savoy or Gizereh Palace in a fort- 
night. Shepheard's is variety, Savoy society 
and Gizereh Palace propriety. 

Naturally, I chose Shepheard's. Every 

165 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

"first timer" does. The constant flow of 
well-dressed men and women through its 
lobbies makes one forget that one is in 
Egypt. On every side are New Yorkers. 
They are not sitting around boasting how 
much better things are in America — the 
favorite pastime of Broad way ites abroad. 
They are drinking Bronx cocktails, rye 
highballs, or gin rickeys — according to the 
time of the day. Shepheard's may be 
English-owned; certainly it is run by Ger- 
mans, but it is conducted primarily for 
Americans. It has an American bartender, 
imported from the Imperial Hotel. And 
its chef has spent enough time in New York 
to learn that it is not necessary to garnish 
every dish with a fly or roach to make 
diners appreciate the fact that they are 
abroad. Hats off to Shepheard's! 

There is no city in the world where hotel 
life plays such an important part as it does 
in Cairo. All social functions are given in 
the hotels. From early in November until 
the last of March they are the life of the 
city. 

Eight o'clock is the dinner hour in 
Egypt. The theatres do not begin until 

166 



CAIRO 

nearly half -past nine and it is usually after 
midnight before their performances are 
over. There is no one o'clock ordinance, 
but most people seek their beds after the 
theatre. After a Cairo hotel dinner it is 
impossible to eat for at least twelve hours. 

The dinner in the main dining-room at 
Shepheard's always consists of ten courses, 
so deliciously prepared that it takes real 
courage to refuse the turbaned black who 
serves you. You may leave your table in 
self-defense. But you cannot escape. Turk- 
ish coffee is forced on you, wherever you 
seek refuge. 

This dinner is quite a function. Evening 
dress is as essential as a bankroll. If you 
are not going to the opera a dinner coat will 
do, but the opera is almost certain to be 
included in your evening's programme. 

I had dined on the veranda overlooking 
the gardens in the rear of Shepheard's (for 
which I paid an extra ten piasters), sipped 
a cup of Turkish coffee served free on the 
terrace and was enjoying a perfect cigarette 
when I was informed that the opera had 
begun. I jumped into a cab and hastened 
to the Khedivial Opera House, which is 

167 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

less than three blocks away. An orchestra 
seat had been reserved for me for which I 
paid forty piasters, a little more than two 
dollars. The price did not augur well for 
a fine performance, but I soon learned that 
people in Cairo do not go to the opera to 
hear the music. 

"Aida" in French was the bill, but the 
audience paid far less attention to the per- 
formers than to the women in the boxes. 
The Khedive has endowed the opera with 
the sum of $20,000 a year and the perform- 
ances are in keeping with the size of the 
endowment. Never had I heard such badly 
played, badly sung music. But the opera 
house was comfortable and everybody I 
had seen at the hotel was there. Dozens 
of English officers in dress uniforms added 
the eclat that the performance lacked. And 
behind the black and white screens of the 
native boxes, I could see the dim moving 
shapes of the ladies from the harems. 

However, that touch of local color did 
deter me from leaving the opera long be- 
fore it was over and seeking the Printania 
Theatre, where Sacha Guitry and his ex- 
cellent French company were playing "La 

168 



CAIRO 

Prise de Berg op Zoom." I had seen the 
piece in London, under the title of "The 
Real Thing," but I was anxious to see the 
famous Guitry. 

But here again the audience proved more 
interesting than the play. The orchestra 
was a sea of fezes. The Egyptians remove 
their fezes only when they sleep and at 
the opera — which is often the same thing. 
Only the occupants of the boxes were in 
evening dress and they were Europeans. 
With tickets at fifty piasters ($2.60) each, 
programmes at two piasters additional — 
theatregoing in Cairo is rather expensive. 
However, there are no speculators — which 
speaks well for Lord Kitchener's adminis- 
tration. 

The gayest place in Cairo after midnight 
is the St. James — a combination restaurant 
and hotel near the Printania Theatre. 
When I arrived there about quarter past 
twelve I caught the familiar strains of 
"On the Mississippi," and on looking into 
the restaurant I saw a score of British 
officers and their fair companions turkey 
trotting in the most approved New York 
fashion. At the tables which surrounded 

169 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

the space reserved for dancing were well 
dressed women and stalwart men in evening 
dress or military uniforms. 

As the hour grew later, the crowd became 
more friendly. Between trots the officers 
visited each other's table. By half-past one 
every one in the restaurant was acquainted 
and on terms of friendly intimacy. An 
officer of the Gordon Highlanders was 
leading the orchestra. Old Marburg, the 
proprietor, was dancing with a dignified 
looking major whose monocle seemed 
built into his face. 

It was after two when the orchestra 
ground out the strains of "Home, Sweet 
Home," and even then the crowd was loath 
to leave. The Gordon Highlander insisted 
upon ordering "night caps" for every one 
and there was nothing for Old Marburg 
to do but reopen the bar and serve them. 

A flock of automobiles and cabs were in 
the street outside to whirl the gay young 
dogs to their barracks. When I drove back 
to Shepheard's through the broad, well 
lighted streets, it was difficult to realize 
that I was almost under the shadow of 
the pyramids. 

170 



LISBON 




The Praca do 
Commercio 



LISBON 

GAYETY bursts into bloom in Lis- 
bon when the sun goes down. 
About six in the evening the well- 
to-do inhabitants emerge from their cool 
stone houses and throng the cafes along 
the Avenida, the principal promenade in 
the capital of the Portuguese Republic. 

The Rua Aurea and the Rocio are also 
crowded. The cafes — which extend from 
dark recesses far out into the street — are as 
busy as Broadway bars at cocktail hour. 
And there is even more noise than one will 
find at Broadway and Forty-second street, 
for Lisbon is one of the noisiest — if not 
the noisiest — city in the world! 

There is only one thing missing to make 
a New Yorker forget he is more than three 
thousand miles from Broadway — a cock- 
tail. Although Portugal has been a re- 
public for three years, the cocktail has not 
followed the republican flag. 

[xii] 173 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

I asked for a Martini at the Hotel Bra- 
ganza, only to be told they had no more 
"Martine." If I had asked for a Manhattan 
I would have been told there was no more 
"Manhat." Lisbon doesn't deny the ex- 
istence of such drinks — it merely serves a 
substitute. And the substitute proves most 
acceptable. It is like a Clover Club in 
appearance and tastes not unlike absinthe, 
only milder and sweeter. 

"Ojen," announces the head waiter. "Ojen 
and a dash of grenadine frappe. Our 
specialty." 

We took our seats in the dining room of 
the Braganza, just off the Praca do Com- 
mercio — Black Horse Square, as it is usually 
called. We chose it because we had been 
informed that it was the centre of gayety 
in Lisbon at dinner time. Dinner at the 
Braganza may be the acme of gayety in 
Lisbon, but it is about as lively as a Satur- 
day night dinner at a Fifth avenue hotel in 
midsummer. 

A well meaning but terribly misguided 
orchestra played " Alexander's Ragtime 
Band," "The Rosary," "When the Mid- 
night Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam'," and 

174 



LISBON 

other classics while we dined on a typical 
French menu. In vain we asked for a 
Portuguese dish, a Portuguese wine, a 
Portuguese tune. 

We did not then know that Portugal has 
no national dishes, no drinkable wines, no 
music. But we know now. 

The cuisine in all its hotels and restau- 
rants is either French or Spanish, its wines 
are the same, but its music (hurrah for 
Irving Berlin!) is American. Lisbon is 
crazy about ragtime. 

The older the ragtime the better the 
people seem to like it. The diners at the 
Braganza — many of whom came in their 
private limousines — applauded every raggy 
tune and treated the other selections with 
indifference. 

When we asked for our dinner check the 
head waiter inquired whether we wanted it 
in francs or reis. 

"Portuguese money — we want something 
Portuguese after travelling all this dis- 
tance," I told him. 

The result was a check marked 4,800 reis, 
but it's only $4.80 in real money. There are 
1,000 reis in the Portuguese dollar, which is 

175 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

the exact equivalent of ours. The dinner 
is "prix fixe" — 1,500 reis per person — and 
is about as good as the $1.50 table d'hotes 
in New York. The wine at $1.50 per 
bottle is far superior to what is served on 
Broadway for twice the price, and the ojen 
is 15 cents a drink. 

A big, roomy taxi whizzed us across the 
Praca do Commercio to the Hotel Central 
on the water front, the distance was less 
than half a mile and the charge 200 reis 
(20 cents). However, you can go any 
where within the radius of a mile for 25 
cents. A tip of a "testoon" (10 cents) is 
gratefully received. 

We drank our coffee in the lobby of the 
Central to more ragtime (this time it was 
"That Mysterious Rag") and then sought 
the street, still as busy and noisy as Broad- 
way. There are many playhouses around 
the Hotel Central, all devoted to moving 
pictures. Of first-class theatres as we 
know them there are only two. 

Since King Manuel fled the country 
there has been no opera at the Teatro 
Nacional. "The Last Days of Pompeii" 
in moving pictures is holding the boards 

176 



LISBON 

there now. Even third class Italian grand 
opera companies cannot play to paying 
business in Lisbon. 

At the Teatro Lirica musical comedy is 
fairly well patronized, and there we saw 
the first act of "Eva," a Viennese operetta 
by Franz Lehar, sung in Spanish by Italian 
singers! This before an audience of Portu- 
guese ! 

The enthusiastic reception of this piece 
showed us that Lisbon and New York 
do not agree on musical comedies. "Eva" 
at the New Amsterdam Theatre last 
January was a ghastly failure. "Eva" at 
the Teatro Lirica was received with "bra- 
vos" and deafening applause. One act 
drove us to the street despite the fact that 
the tickets were 2,000 reis apiece. Like 
everybody who wanted good seats we had 
to patronize the ticket speculators — who 
went openly to the box office for the seat 
coupons. 

Between the acts men and women went 
to the lobby. The men immediately be- 
gan discussing politics. No one is openly 
against the Government. Generally speak- 
ing, the republic is popular, but there 

177 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

isn't enough gold lace around to please 
everybody. 

I asked a distinguished looking citizen 
what would happen if I were to shout 
"Vive Manuel." He laughed and said 
something, which, translated, was to the 
effect that it would take a bunch of vivas 
to put life into a dead one. 

At the Teatro Girnnasio we found a 
vaudeville show. It had a French dancer, 
who would be arrested after one perform- 
ance at Hammerstein's, and two naughty 
playlets. 

As in Havana, a considerable number 
of people make a living selling lottery 
tickets and suggestive pictures. There is 
no public gambling (aside from the Gov- 
ernment lotteries), but there are gambling 
clubs easy of access. There's nothing slow 
about Lisbon — it's quite as lively and 
brilliant as Havana — and far more wicked. 

Very likely Lisbon has a number of ordi- 
nances, but what they relate to no one seems 
to know or care. Taxicabs take their own 
regulations as they go along. There is no 
closing time for hotels or cafes. No one has 
to move on. The police patrol the streets 

178 



LISBON 

as if they were merely on exhibition, and 
things that would not be tolerated in New 
York for a moment go unnoticed. 

From the number of people who invest in 
lottery tickets it would seem that half the 
population lives in the hope of making a 
big winning and retiring to a grand estate. 

After the vaudeville we supped at Tav- 
ares, a very good restaurant in the Rua do 
San Roque. The Tavares has "chambres 
separees" (stalls they would be called in 
New York), which are wonderful spooning 
places. Of course the cuisine is French, but 
the music is ragtime. There is no dancing. 
Turkey trots and tango teas are unknown 
as yet. 

When I told the manager of the number 
of restaurants in New York where public 
dancing is the regular order he said he 
didn't know whether dancing was good for 
the appetite, but if it was the Lisbon 
restaurant man would find out about it 
and have a tango on the menu. 



179 



LONDON 




K.Sj 



A Panic in 
Supper Club 
Stocks 



LONDON 

I OWE my introduction to the night 
life of London to Bernard Shaw. 
No, Mr. Shaw did not take me to 
the "Night Clubs," for, like all other 
respectable Londoners, he is in bed and 
sound asleep every night by midnight. 
But his preface to "Androcles and the 
Lion" threw me into such convulsions of 
laughter that the very agreeable chap 
seated opposite to me at the Queen's lounge 
began to laugh too. I was bound in com- 
mon charity to explain the joke, and in- 
cidentally I mentioned my mission — a 
glimpse of the night life of London. 

"You want to visit the supper clubs, do 
you?" asked my new acquaintance. "Well, 
that's very easy. I'm a member of half a 
dozen of them and I'll take you." 

Thus it will be seen at the outset that 
the night clubs in London are about as 
exclusive as a New York Turkish bath on 
Saturday nights. But I accepted the 

183 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

invitation with alacrity, for it was nearly 
12.30 A. M., and I knew every public 
restaurant would be closed to me in a very 
few minutes. 

I had supped at Oddy's (as Oddenino's 
Imperial Restaurant is called) after the 
theatre and was looking for gayety. Cer- 
tainly it was far from gay at Oddy's. A 
five-shilling "souper" eaten to ragtime 
music of the vintage of 1910 is not 
conducive to frivolity. I longed for the 
naughty night life of wicked London — the 
smart restaurants had failed to reveal 
either dancing or cabarets. My only hope 
was the "night clubs.' ' 

"Can we go to the Grafton Gallery 
Club?" I suggested, recalling the fact that 
a Grafton Gallery Club had just been 
organized in New York to replace the 
Supper Club. 

"It's closed, dear boy," answered my 
comrade. "Didn't pay, you know. A 
couple of caterers got hold of it and ran it 
in the ground. The Albert Room is the 
smartest night club now." 

"Are you a member?" I asked. 

"Oh, yes; of course," was the reply. 

184 



LONDON 

And two minutes later we were in a taxi 
bound for the Albert Room Club in Whit- 
field street, off Tottenham Court road. 

A giant "commissionaire" opened our 
taxi in front of a four-story graystone 
structure, and my guide conducted me to 
the vestibule of the building, which was 
guarded by a flunky in livery and pow- 
dered wig. 

"A guest," announced my companion. 

Instantly the inner door was flung open 
and I was in the club. The sight that 
greeted my eyes was not a novel one. A 
succession of rooms decorated like the in- 
side of an Easter egg filled with men and 
women in evening dress was before me. 

On my right was an English bar with its 
inevitable barmaid. On my left was another 
counter decorated with American flags and 
bearing a sign, "American Bar." The 
walls of the room were lined with tables at 
which couples and parties of three and four 
were drinking. In the next room half a 
dozen couples were dancing the one-step to 
the music of "On the Mississippi," which 
was being ground out by an orchestra of 
three alleged musicians. 

185 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

Except for the music and the shuffling of 
feet the club rooms were steeped in silence; 
there was no laughter, no animated con- 
versation, no gayety of any kind. Every 
one present seemed to take himself seriously. 

We managed to find a vacant table, where 
I ordered sloe gin for my companion and 
Scotch and soda for myself. My comrade 
had informed me that it was not necessary 
to order champagne (at 20 shillings a 
bottle), although most of the people were 
drinking wine. 

"There are new night clubs being organ- 
ized from time to time," volunteered my 
companion, "for the police raid and close 
up the clubs every little while. This club 
is very strict. It costs five guineas to 
become a member, and a member can 
bring only one guest at a time." 

During our stay the orchestra played a 
Boston and three ragtime pieces, but not 
one-twentieth of the club members danced. 
It was as gay as a Fulton street restaurant 
on a Sunday night — as naughty as a candy 
pull in Kansas City. Professional dancers 
and cabaret singers were things my com- 
panion had never heard of. 

186 



LONDON 

"There's nothing like that in London," 
he assured me. "And I know the West 
End," he added confidently. 

At my suggestion we took our leave 
and hastened to the Cosmopolitan Club on 
Rupert street, near Leicester Square. Here 
we found the biggest and supposedly gayest 
"night club" in London. The Cosmopolitan 
Club occupies three floors of a fairly respec- 
table looking building. It does not open 
until midnight and its doors are not closed 
to members until 4 A. M. 

On the second floor there was dancing — 
but less than a dozen couples attempted the 
one-step and two-steps which were played 
by a miserable band. Drinking seemed to 
be the principal pastime. Next in popu- 
larity was "chaffing" the barmaids. 

I was informed that the Cosmopolitan 
Club was a favorite rendezvous for Ameri- 
cans. A visit to the third floor did reveal 
three Americans — Grace La Rue, the ac- 
tress, and her husband, Byron Chandler, 
and Hale Hamilton of "Get-Rich-Quick 
Wallingford" fame. They were drinking 
lemon squashes and talking in low tones. 
The room had the atmosphere of a first- 

187 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

class restaurant in Jersey City. Mr. Ham- 
ilton said he felt as chipper as a piece of 
crepe and Grace La Rue's husband sighed 
audibly for Broadway. 

The other club members and their guests, 
while decorous as far as outward appear- 
ances were concerned, were not hard to 
place. Undoubtedly some of them were 
married — but not to their companions. 

It was suggested that we go to the 
International Club — a supper club next 
door — but I was content, as several people 
assured me that I had already touched the 
"high spots." Accordingly I bade my 
comrade adieu and returned to my hotel 
to find the entrance bolted and barred. 

After prolonged ringing and tapping on 
the glass with my stick I was admitted and 
permitted to walk four flights to my room. 

High life even in a smart Piccadilly 
hotel is difficult after 1 A. M. 

The naughty, gay, frivolous night life of 
London, like its costers, witty bus drivers 
and English roast beef, is a myth. Irvin 
Cobb believes London has a future. I'm 
not so sure. 



188 



A LONDON "FIRST NIGHT" 



A LONDON "FIRST NIGHT" 

BY a quarter to eight St. Martin's Lane 
is filled with carriages, limousines 
and taxis discharging their human 
freight at the New Theatre as rapidly as 
the giant doorman and three "bobbies" 
can keep the line moving. For at eight 
(sharp) the curtain is to ring up on a new 
musical comedy. 

All the tickets have been sold five 
weeks before — and sold for real money. 
Sir Charles Wyndham, the New Theatre's 
proprietor, does not believe in "complimen- 
taries." The only deadheads are the critics. 
Fortunately for six shillings I have been 
able to obtain a seat in the last row of the 
dress circle. The London theatrical man- 
ager who bought it has been called out of 
town. I happen at the box office as he is 
getting his money back. Can you imagine 
Abe Erlanger buying a theatre ticket in 
New York? Well, even Erlanger would 

191 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

have to buy his seat at any of Sir Charles 
Wyndham's playhouses. 

The "first night" audience that finds its 
way to the stalls, boxes and dress circle 
is far different than one sees in New York. 
In the first place every one is in evening 
dress — full evening dress, if that makes it 
clearer. I don't believe there is a dinner 
coat in the theatre and I am sure if any one 
had arrived in a sack suit he would have 
been barred. And of course there are no 
women in shirtwaists or "tailor mades." 
Lo and behold, gowns are the rule and the 
only woman who wears a hat is an Ameri- 
can actress — who should have known 
better. 

It is almost impossible to elbow one's 
way through the crowd in the lobby — 
theatregoers in London have the New 
York habit of blocking the lobbies on first 
nights, with this difference — they are in 
their seats when the curtain goes up. 

It costs sixpence (12 cents) to get to a 
seat. An usherine collects it for a pro- 
gramme — one sort of graft New Yorkers 
won't tolerate. Stalls (orchestra chairs) 
are ten shillings sixpence ($2.52) at the 

192 



A LONDON "FIRST NIGHT 



?? 



box office, so theatregoing is more ex- 
pensive in London than in New York. 
However, you even it up on the taxicabs. 
You can ride a mile for 16 cents and usually 
a shilling will take you to or from any 
theatre to your hotel. 

The dress circle, where my seat is, is on 
the street level, for in the New Theatre, 
as well as in most London theatres, it is 
necessary to descend a flight of steps to 
reach what we call the orchestra chairs. 
London theatregoers are not prejudiced 
against balcony seats. Many of the smart- 
est people prefer the dress circle to the 
stalls, and the seats behind the stalls, 
which sell for $2 in New York are the 
cheapest in the theatre. 

In the right upper box are the Crown 
Prince of Greece, the Duke of Sparta and 
several ladies. Sir John Rolleston, M. P., 
occupies another box. Sir Charles Wynd- 
ham sits in the stage box with Miss Mary 
Moore. In the front stalls are Capt. 
Knollys, Lady Henry, Lady Wolesley and 
several other ladies of high degree— all 
bediamoned and bepearled — and all very 
homely. 



193 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

London does not boast of "first-nighters" 
as New York knows them. There are some 
"old bloods" who take in all the George 
Edwardes first nights — musical comedies 
at the Gaiety, Adelphi and Daly's — but as 
a rule each theatre has its own clientele. 
Of course the more famous actors and 
actresses who are "at liberty" attend pre- 
mieres. 

The only "regulars" are the dozen 
critics from the big London dailies. These 
critics, by the way, are so well dressed and 
so unostentatious that they cannot be 
distinguished from the "Johnnys" in the 
stalls. Nor do they leave before the play 
is half over to write their "stuff." At 
least, I observed that they were all present 
when the final curtain fell. 

As is the custom in New York, the male 
portion of the audience seeks the lobby and 
neighboring bars during the intermission. 
They light cigarettes and even pipes. The 
bar in the theatre does a rushing business 
for about fifteen minutes. Every one at it 
takes brandy and soda or Scotch and soda. 
When the bell rings there is a rush for the 
stalls and boxes, where those who had 

194 



A LONDON "FIRST NIGHT" 

remained with the ladies are enjoying 

coffee. , , 

At the intermission between the second 
and third acts I go behind the scenes where 
I see Lionel Montagu, Esq., R. Sehgman, 
Esq., and Col. MacGeorge, three well known 
Londoners, come to congratulate Mr. Cour- 
tice Pounds, the star. 

When the final curtain falls there are 
cheers and "bravos." The play is a success 
and the audience remains until Pinup 
Michael Faraday, the producer, comes on 
the stage and bows his thanks. I hen 
Arthur Wimperis, who did the book, is 
dragged out to bow his thanks. Alter 
more handclapping and cheering the audi- 
ence moves to the lobby and the street to 
watch the celebrities enter their cars It 
must be admitted that Miss Mane Lohr 
the actress, who is in the audience with 
H B Irving, attracts more attention than 
the Crown Prince of Greece. It requires 
the combined efforts of ten "bobbies to 
keep the crowds back and carriages in line. 
Although the play is over at eleven o'clock, 
it is a quarter to twelve before the lobby 
is cleared and the lights turned out. 

195 



THE NIGHT SIDE OF EUROPE 

The play? Oh, yes. It was called "The 
Laughing Husband" — a Viennese operetta 
with music by Edmund Eysler. There is 
no need to describe it. You have seen it 
half a dozen times and you will see it again 
if you go to musical shows. 



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